


The Last Puzzle

by BlackWerewolf888



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: 11 years later, Adulthood, Angst, Blindshipping, But there's plot too, Canon - Manga, Drama, Drinking, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Gemshipping, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, It will take them a while to get there, M/M, Mystery, Post-Series, Puzzleshipping, Returning Home, Slow Build, Smoking, Tendershipping, Violence, Yamis have their own Body, slice of life-y
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-01 06:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12699654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackWerewolf888/pseuds/BlackWerewolf888
Summary: 11 years after the Ceremonial Duel, the yamis inexplicably return to Domino and their hikaris' lives.Not everyone is happy. Not everything is perfect. Things have changed, and finding a place in this world is not that simple.Soon they realise they have to solve the mystery of their return; some in order to make sure that they stay, and some to make sure that they don't.





	1. Reborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to _The Last Puzzle!_  
>  I really hope this fandom is not dead yet, because I have a long story to tell. :D
> 
> I've read many homecoming fics (with _THE 'Homecoming'_ by Fiver taking the cake), but I had this version in my head for a while now. I was really intrigued by the idea of Yuugi, Bakura, Malik etc as adults, and how their lives would turn upside-down with the reappearance of their yamis. I mean... This is an entirely different level of a mess. :P
> 
> You can expect a lot of drama and romance, a slice-of-life feeling, as well as a plot to tie it all together nicely, but no explicit yaoi (the rating is T and I think I'll keep it that way). Oh, and there's gonna be some swearing and vulgar language, cause, you know... Bakura ain't exactly well-mannered.  
> You might notice a few mistakes here and there. If you do, notify me so I can correct them, because English is not my mother tongue.

It was raining hard.

Yuugi was watching the water cascading in rivulets on the windowpane, sparkling under the neon lights of the street. Around him, the café was full of people and noise, as many had sought out a warm cup of coffee on this cold winter evening.

Yuugi clasped his mug and pried his gaze away from the window, turning to the empty chair across from him. Anzu was late. It was probably due to the bad weather, because this was not like her. She was extremely punctual and Yuugi knew this better than anyone: he had known Anzu for twenty years and had been married to her for five of them.

He sighed and looked around. That place had once been the famous Burger World, their favorite hang-out when they were still in high school. Since then it had changed name and owner, and was now a café instead of a burger joint, but it had kept enough of the old furnishing and layout to still be familiar to his eyes.

It had been a long time since he had last set foot in there. Yuugi and his friends had been unconsciously avoiding the place for years, so it came as a surprise when Anzu asked Yuugi to meet her there.

There was a time when they hung out there a lot. That was where Anzu had worked on their first year of high school. Yuugi remembered how embarrassed she had been when he and Jounouchi had run into her during one of her first shifts. That had been quite a day... Yuugi craned his neck a little and managed to get a glimpse of one of the tables on the other side of the café: the one the spirit of the Millennium Puzzle had set on fire on that day. That was back before Yuugi knew about the Millennium Items, or that said spirit was actually a three-thousand-year-old pharaoh.

A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips - as it always did when he remembered Atem - but it wavered and faded quickly. He turned back at the rain that pattered against his reflection on the window.

So many years had passed. Those days of their youth seemed like a dream now: something distant and otherworldly that may or may not have actually happened. Yet, at times like these, when something poked through the dream to the real world - that table was there,  _right there_ , its surface scratched off and polished but otherwise still the same - that he was reminded that all of this had been real.

"Yuugi?"

A voice cut into his thoughts. He turned and saw Anzu standing next to him, coat wet and cheeks flushed from the cold. She was smiling at him, albeit tentatively, and she looked absolutely breathtaking. For a while none of them moved, as Yuugi took in her image.

He had not seen Anzu for four months. Even though he had grown up with her and her form was permanently painted in his mind, he still found himself taken by surprise by her sheer beauty. For a few seconds his breath was knocked away, until the dull ache that spread through his chest brought him back to his senses.

"Anzu!" he cried, trying to sound as carefree as possible as he stood up to hug her; she returned the hug stiffly. "Welcome back! How was your flight?"

"Long and boring, as always", she replied as she took off her coat and sat across him. "It's good to be back, though. I missed Domino".

Another pang of dull ache at that. Yuugi lowered his gaze at the contents of his mug as his spirits sunk. A few months ago, she would have said  _'I missed you'_.

"Nothing has changed much, as you see", he murmured.

"That's not true", she said cheerfully enough to make Yuugi look up again. "You changed your hair again!"

"Oh, that..." Yuugi mumbled, glancing at his reflection on the rain-stained glass. His black, shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a ponytail. "Yeah, I got rid of the bangs. I figured that at twenty-nine I'm a bit old for bangs".

Anzu snorted. "You know my opinion about this. Your hair was your trademark! Everybody recognized the King of Games' hair!"

Yuugi chuckled and mumbled something about 'too old' and 'job'.

The waiter arrived, bringing Anzu a steaming cup of green tea. They sipped at their beverages for a while, the silence growing increasingly awkward.

"So, umm... Will you stay for Christmas?" Yuugi asked when he felt the silence had stretched on for far too long.

Anzu shook her head. "I'm leaving again for New York in two days".

"So soon?"

"Yes, I have too many things going on at the moment".

"I see".

Silence fell again between them, filled by the bustle of the crowded café and the rhythmical sound of rain hitting glass.

"it's been so long since I've been in this place", Anzu said suddenly, looking around with a fond smile.

"Me too. I didn't expect you to want to come here".

"Well... I guess I've been feeling a bit of nostalgia lately". She laughed, but the sound did nothing to cheer Yuugi up; on the contrary, it added to the pain in his chest.

"Anzu..." he started, gripping at his mug tightly. He looked straight into her eyes, even though he felt as if the indigo of her irises was physically hurting him. "Why did you ask to see me?"

Anzu looked slightly taken aback. When she did not answer, Yuugi went on.

"If it's about the divorce papers, I-"

"Actually, Yuugi", she cut across him in a quiet voice, "I wanted to talk to you".

"I told you, if it's-"

"It's not about the papers. It's-" She paused and took a big breath. "I... I was wondering if... If you are willing to give this another chance".

Yuugi felt his stomach plummet, the way it does when one misses a step on a staircase. He gaped at her, trying to wrap his mind around what she had just said. He felt hope ignite a spark in him that made his heart beat madly, but he tried not to show it. Instead, he shook his head.

"We've been through this so many times before. I mean, it's not as if anything has... changed. You-" He hesitated, hope clashing with disappointment in him. "You said it yourself, you're leaving again in two days, and we've seen that...  _this_ ", he pointed at themselves, "can't work like that".

Anzu was biting her lip anxiously. "I'm going back to New York for the last time".

Yuugi found himself gaping once more. "What?"

"I'm going back to empty my apartment. And then I'm coming back to Domino. Permanently".

"But... But..." Yuugi sputtered, "what about your career? What about the theater company, and the-"

"I've had enough of that. I want to come back", Anzu stated decisively.

Yuugi sat back in his chair, lost for words. He had been dreaming of something like that for years: of having Anzu living with him all the time, of not having an ocean separating them, of having her close and not on the other line of a phone. Yet, something inside him made him look at her suspiciously.

"What do I have to do with that?" he asked her, his voice coming out a bit more harsh than he intended it to.

Anzu's jaw actually dropped a bit at his reaction. "But... I already told you. I was thinking of-"

"Are you coming back for  _me_ , or because-" Yuugi interrupted her again and then he abruptly stopped talking. He knew her career was not the one she had dreamed of and things had been hard for her lately - in short, she had not succeeded as a dancer - but he stopped himself before saying something of the sort. It would have hurt Anzu to hear it from him and, despite all that had happened between them, Yuugi did not want to hurt her like this.

Because he loved her. Of course he loved her.

But that was not enough to ignore certain things.

"What is my part in this?" he asked again.

Anzu sighed and lowered her head. "Yuugi... I am sorry about the last time... About what I said", she started off, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat and not lifting her gaze from her cup of green tea.

Yuugi pressed his lips together in a tight line and kept himself from saying anything. He did not want to think about the fight they had before Anzu's last departure.

"You know I've been in under a lot of pressure lately - well, for years, actually. It has been hard to concentrate on us with all that has been going on and I know that the biggest part of the blame lies on me", she went on in a much more confident voice. "However, I do believe that, once I move back to Domino, things will be much better and it will be easier to work this out-"

Yuugi turned his gaze to the window once more as Anzu kept talking, barely stopping to draw a breath. She was hesitant and unsure before, but now it seemed like she was reciting a well-rehearsed speech. He let her go on, only half-paying attention to what she was saying, while his eyes focused on the raindrops that clung to the other side of the glass.

He could not remember for how many years he wished for Anzu to come back to Domino. He never asked it of her, because he wanted to be supportive of her choice to make it as a dancer in New York, but this long-distance arrangement had been too hard for him. He spent the last years missing her and wishing that she would just stay with him, that he could see her every day like when they were younger. Now that it was finally so close to happening, he was not as excited as he thought he would be - not even close. Now that his wish was close to coming true, something was bothering him.

It seemed like all he ever did was wait for someone, pray and hope. All those years ago, he wished on the Millennium Puzzle for friends. After that adventure, after the Ceremonial Duel, he wished that he could see Atem once more; he had lost count of how many years it took him to get used to missing the pharaoh. And of course, after Atem there was Anzu.

How many years had he spent like this? All his life seemed like an endless streak of expectancy and fervent wishing; always waiting for something or someone. And he had grown tired of it. Too tired and too disappointed. He could not wait any longer for something that would never happen. Sure, Anzu said that she was finally coming back to Domino, but distance had not been their only problem. He could not expect this to fix everything. He did not expect anything any more, he simply had no more energy left for hope.

The reflection of his violet eyes looked back at him accusingly. He had lost his faith. Yuugi, who had never given up no matter how bleak things looked, had finally lost his faith.

He sighed deeply, feeling worn out like an old man.

He noticed Anzu had stopped talking. She was looking at him with sparkling blue eyes, apparently waiting for his answer to what she had just said and oblivious to the fact that Yuugi had barely heard half of it.

He let out an exhale heavily laden with fatigue and rose to his feet. "I... I'll think about it", was all he said, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation and leave. He tried to avoid her gaze as he reached for his coat and his briefcase and rushed out of the crowded café, leaving his half-drunk coffee and Anzu behind.

The walk back to his apartment was a long one, but it did not occur to him to call a cab. He crossed the wet streets slowly, rain pattering heavily on the top of his umbrella and cold biting at his exposed hands. His feet took him back to his neighborhood of their own accord; he was too lost in thought to pay attention to where he was going. In his mind were swirling thoughts about Anzu, and the divorce, and Atem, and all those years that had not been exactly as he thought they would be, and then back to Anzu once more.

What a mess they had made of things. When he was younger he liked to think that he would grow up to marry to Anzu. What he never expected was that he would end up getting a divorce from her. He had thought that, if they ended up together, that would be it. He always believed that once he'd find one he truly loved, that would be it. He knew now that this was not the case. It was a sad realization, but perhaps this disillusionment was part of growing up.

And now she was asking for a second chance. He wanted to give their marriage a chance, he did. But how could he forget so easily about everything else? How could he forget about that last time, about the things she said before slamming the door to his face? She hadn't spoken in rage, she had meant every word. Was this something they could salvage...?

A thunder rumbled in the distance and he blinked at the entrance of his apartment building, momentarily unaware that he had reached his destination. He started fumbling for his keys with frozen fingers.

He had just managed to make his numb hands cooperate and was about to put the key in the lock, when a low, weak voice reached him, barely audible over the sound of heavy rain.

"Aibou...?"

Yuugi's hands froze mid-air. He knew that voice. He knew it all too well. But he couldn't have heard correctly. He couldn't have, because it was years since... It had been years that he hadn't heard... It could not be.

His throat made a dry swallowing sound as dread crept up on him. Out of all emotions; dread. Because this could not be, even though he had heard it clearly enough. He must have lost it. After so many years, he had finally cracked now. Surely, after meeting Anzu and thinking so much about her and Atem, his mind must have-

"Aibou".

His heart gave such a lurch he felt light-headed with it. He could not have imagined  _that_ , too; he had definitely heard it. His breath formed a faint crescent of white steam as he slowly turned to the direction of the sound, ready for nothing more than to face a curtain of rain and the emptiness of night beyond that.

Because, if life had taught him something in those last eleven years, it was that one never gets what one expects.

So, he did not expect to meet the steady gaze of crimson eyes, nor a mane of achingly familiar - even if slumped by the rain - tri-colored hair, nor the tired, confused, tremulous but otherwise genuine smile of pharaoh Atem.

Yuugi's knees crashed to the ground, following shortly after his keys and briefcase.

* * *

A man lay face down on the sidewalk like a drop of pure white in the dark night. Nobody noticed the exact moment of his appearance, because the few passers-by hurried along their ways with faces hidden in scarves or the collars of their coats.

If anyone spared a glance at him they might have thought him dead, for he was neither breathing nor moving. The truth was that, at first, he was indeed as good as dead: nothing more than pale limbs and white hair sprawled on the wet concrete. But the unnatural stillness did not last for long, because after a while the man's heart gave a small, uncertain thud. Blood pumped through his cold veins one, two, three times before settling for a rhythmic pulse.

Thief King Bakura's heart had woken up.

The first breath he took was more of a rasping sound than an actual inhale. His body gave a violent twitch as air rushed in from his mouth and surprised his lungs with its force.

His eyes snapped open, crazed and unfocused. Pain spread from his chest to the rest of his body.

He had managed to draw in a breath, but he seemed unable to either let it out or draw in a new one. His lungs were burning. His fingers curled and clawed at the coarse ground as his body convulsed in his struggle to inhale, but the air seemed to stop somewhere along his windpipe. No images registered; his mind was panic and fire. His ears were buzzing so hard he couldn't even hear the pitiful, hissing sounds he was making.

Some instinct drove him to climb to his elbows; a bit of the pressure on his stomach and chest was alleviated and cool air finally rushed to his lungs. He gulped down as much air as possible before his body protested again.

He choked on his own greedy breaths and a queasy feeling rose from his stomach to his throat. For a moment he felt like drowning; then he convulsed violently and he retched. All that came out was a bitter liquid that added a burning in his throat and left him spitting and coughing.

Slowly, very slowly, the coughing and gasping gave way to proper breaths, however shallow and uneven. He raised a hand to wipe at his mouth.

When his fingertips touched his lips, he went still. The cold contact ignited a spark in his blank mind. He stretched his fingers in front of him, all the while trying to blink the darkness of his eyes away.

Shapes came into focus and he found himself looking at his violently trembling hand. His breath formed weak tufts of fog as he gazed, transfixed, at the limb before him, trying to grasp what he was seeing. For no distinguishable reason, he tried curling and uncurling his fingers. He felt a pang of satisfaction when the hand before him responded to his mind's commands.

Next he noticed the transparent drops that splashed on his flesh, each one of them exploding into countless tiny sparkles and sending a freezing sting through him. He knew this feeling, this continuous pin-prick pressure on his skin. He even knew that sound with the monotonous rhythm and the comforting quality about it.

Bakura's first conscious thought was that of one word: rain.

He lifted his gaze to see where those droplets came from. Colors and lights dazzled his eyes and the world went blurry. He blinked again and something hot cascaded down his cheeks along with the cold trails of the raindrops; he thought of tears with a kind of vague amazement. Clouds stretched overhead, dark grey with a tinge of red. Buildings rose all around him, dazzlingly high and speckled with neon signs and illuminated windows. Multi-colored cars glistened in a world of water and light.

Bakura managed to sit up, still panting, and gazed around in a mixture of amazement and confusion. Every breath bit at his lungs and he was shivering from the cold, but he focused his attention to the sign across from him. Despite his foggy mind, he found out he could read the harsh neon letters. Still, it took him a moment to realize that they were not hieroglyphs of some sort. They were Japanese.  _Japanese_.

His next thought was,  _Domino_.

He looked around but nothing looked familiar, not the street nor the buildings surrounding it. His own body caught his attention: the long white hair that were plastered on his naked chest, the thin limbs, the pale skin. He went back to observing his hands, recognition stirring in him. He knew this body, but it was not his own  _per se_ \- not his own, ancient Egyptian one, with the tanned skin and the scars and the well-built muscles. This looked like his old host's body.

"Mom, look!"

Bakura's head snapped around, his body instinctively flinching to the sudden squeal. He spotted a woman standing a few feet away from him, umbrella clutched in one hand and a child in the other. The little girl was gawking at him with eyes wide in curiosity, while the woman looked positively horrified.

"Mom, where are his clothes? Isn't he cold?" the child asked with what sounded like genuine interest.

The woman grabbed at the child's hand and dragged her to the other side of the road, casting fearful and disgusted glances at Bakura while the kid kept asking about his clothes in a high-pitched voice.

Bakura simply watched them until they disappeared around a corner, mouth hanging half-open. He had never felt more lost in his life - at least, not as far as he could remember.

He shut his eyes and groped around the murky mess that were his thoughts for his most recent recollection. He could faintly remember a room, a half-lit hall with massive columns. He could remember tall figures looking down at him. He could remember the scale and the spell. And, indistinctly, he could remember the dazzling white light as the gate cracked open.

He opened his eyes, feeling his newly acquired breath catch in his throat. If that was the afterlife, the Gods had a very twisted concept of paradise.

He frowned at the dark street. He felt too weak to stand, but he had to find shelter before he could even start to fathom making some sense out of this. He tried to rise to his feet, only to have his wobbly legs give in and collapse in a quickly-largening pool of rainwater. His head spun from the sudden movement and he grunted in frustration. He gave it another try, this time managing to take a couple of steps before he ended up panting on the sidewalk again, the tips of his white hair swimming in a pool of mud and his heart and lungs stinging from even that minuscule exertion. He took a moment to catch his breath, feeling more pathetic than ever.

Thunder rumbled overhead, cloaking the sound of footsteps splashing their way towards him. Bakura lifted his head wearily and tried to see past his own sopping hair, ready for another mortal that would run away in terror.

Somebody had spotted him, but they did not seem to run away from him. On the contrary, they were hurrying towards him, holding an umbrella and what looked suspiciously like a towel. Somebody tall and thin; somebody with long, white hair, very much like his own.

Big, chocolate-brown eyes widened as the person who owned them staggered before freezing in his tracks. The umbrella slipped from the newcomer's fingers and got carried away by the wind.

The Thief King tried to lift himself from the ground, not peeling his eyes off the man before him. When his voice came out, it was hoarse and low.

"Hello, yadonushi".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... Coming back to life is no easy task.
> 
> It's weird writing about an adult Yuugi. It feels almost OOC, but I guess that a person changes after 11 years (and some hurtful events). Same goes for Ryou, but we'll see more of him later on.
> 
> So, chapter 1 is done and I'd love to hear your feedback!
> 
> Review?


	2. A not-so-happy reunion

When Ryou happened to look out of his window and spot the man on the pavement, he saw nothing more than a person in need. He didn't give it much thought before he grabbed a towel and an umbrella and rushed down the five flights of stairs and out to the street. And he didn't manage to get a better look at the man on the pavement until he was too close.

The first thing that struck him had been, of course, the mane of hair that covered the man's face: long and white like snow, despite the traces of mud that clung on it. That alone made Ryou stop dead in his tracks as an all-too-familiar jumble of feelings swelled in him.

That had not been the first time to freeze at the sight of someone's white hair. He had spent years constantly looking over his shoulder and jumping even at his own reflection, but he had been over it for a while now. He had finally reached a point where the head of an old man was not enough to throw him into fits of paranoia.

All the same, when he finally managed to distinguish hair from pale limbs, Ryou felt a tweak of dread, accompanied by the feeling that everything but his heart was going numb. In cases of such disturbing coincidences, he usually managed to calm down his speeding pulse with a second, more careful look, but this was not one of those times. This time dread kept scraping at his insides as he squinted, trying to see past the heavy rain and the deep shadows of the night.

The man was thin - too thin, even - and looked like he had trouble lifting himself from the rain-soaked pavement. That on itself should be incentive enough for Ryou to start functioning again and go help him, but he didn't move. The more he looked, the more uneasy he felt. His heart rate had started speeding up to painful levels.

That hair... was  _just right_. Just the right length, the right color, the right texture. Soaked though they might be, he could tell, even from a distance; in all his years he had seen hair such as these only in his mirror. And that hand that clawed at the ground, the thin muscles of the arm tensing in an effort to lift the body off the ground-

Just as panic had started mingling with the dread in the pit of Ryou's stomach, the fallen man, probably intrigued by the sound of footsteps stopping a mere five feet away from him, lifted his head.

Ryou's blood went cold. He could have easily thought that he was, indeed, looking into a mirror, if it weren't for the eyes that pierced him. Even in the harsh chiaroscuro of the street lamps, he recognized that look.

He recognized the way the eyebrows tilted in a mixture of arrogance and annoyance. He recognized the slight squint that made those eyes angular and fierce enough to be considered a threat of their own. He recognized the way the darkness licked those features, pooling under eyebrows and in hollow cheeks, embracing that face as if it were its kin.

It was him.

It was  _him_.

There was the second of pure bewilderment when Ryou thought that he was mad, or drunk, or dreaming, or anything but in his right mind, until the man opened his mouth and spoke to him.

"Hello, yadonushi".

His voice was rasping and hoarse; the sound of flesh dragged on gravel and of nails scratching bronze and of five golden points digging in skin-

"No".

Ryou moaned his weak denial as he backed away, feet moving of their own accord.

His mind was filled with static. Raindrops trailed their way into his eyes, blurring his vision, but he did not bother to blink them away. The rest of the world turned into wavering shapes of light and dark, but the man before him didn't. The man before him refused to disappear like a common trick of the eyes. He remained, body glistening under the sparkling rain, naked chest rising and falling rapidly, tainting the darkness of the night with the white fog formed by his heavy breaths.

Suddenly Ryou became aware that he was no longer holding an umbrella and that he was soaked to the bone, but the chill that had frozen his insides had nothing to do with rain. Something prickling and cold was working its way through each and every one of his nerves like a paralytic drug.

The fallen man was the first to move: he made a feeble attempt to lift himself from the ground, never taking his eyes off Ryou.

As if that was the cue Ryou had been waiting for, his whole body tensed. With the next heartbeat, blood rushed through his frozen veins. It was not a matter of thinking; pure survival instinct made him turn on the spot and break to a run.

"Hey!" he heard the man's rough voice over the sound of rumbling thunder and his own splashing footsteps. The sound only made him run faster, making for his apartment building as if he was chased by the devil himself.

"Hey, wait!"

Ryou ran as fast as he could without slipping on the wet concrete, his thoughts diminished to the single need of  _not letting that man get to him_.

He did not bother to slow down to a halt as he reached his destination, so he crashed on the entrance door of his apartment building with a loud thud that would have surely hurt on any other given minute. He almost ripped out his jeans' pocket in his haste to reach his keys.

"Nonononono-" he breathed as he fumbled with them, heart beating in his throat. He thought he could hear erratic footsteps sloshing around somewhere far behind him and his panic mounted.

He was trying to shove the right key into the lock, but the door was swimming before his eyes. His stomach was churning in anguish and he thought he might be sick right then and there, but he steadied himself when he felt the triumphant click of the lock. He turned the key with such force it was a miracle that it didn't snap and lunged all of his weight on the door.

He did not pause to look behind, he simply scrambled in and tackled the door shut. He planted his feet in the floor and pressed his back against the door, ready to hold it shut with his body if it came to it.

The sound of his own frantic breathing bounced off the bare walls of the hall and up the dark staircase. Nothing else moved. Ryou fixed his eyes on the opposite wall, gasping through his teeth. He could see his own heaving shadow against it, cast thanks to the little light that drifted in from the milky glass panels of the entrance door.

His body trembled as terror and panic fought for dominance in him.

"You're not real... You're not real... You're not real..." he repeated over and over in shaky breaths.

Because that was the only explanation. Obviously, his mind had gone haywire, conjuring ghosts out of rain and shadows. Tricks of the mind, caused by sleep deprivation and stress. Nothing made sense otherwise. What Ryou had just seen could not be real.

The Millennium Ring and its inhabitant were gone and had been gone for the past eleven years. A whole new life stood between the Ryou of the present and the Ryou that walked around with the Ring on his neck and his mind split in half. A whole new, normal life.  _Normal_ , with no more magic or shadow games or mad spirits whispering in his head. That was behind him for good; so far behind, that Ryou had finally managed to forget thinking about it.

This was the normal world. And in the normal world, people did not come back from the dead.

"You're not real... You're not real... You're not real..."

The door rattled as something heavy fell gracelessly on it. The shadow Ryou cast on the opposite wall was obscured as another form cut out the feeble street illumination that flitted in. Ryou stopped his mantra and held his breath, watching the two overlapping shadows with huge eyes.

"Yadonushi", a gruff voice called.

Ryou tensed like an animal ready to lash out. No amount of whispering to himself could convince him now that the rasping breath on the other side of the door was not real.

"Open up".

Ryou bit down hard on his lip to hold back the terrified whimper that threatened to escape him. His legs gave in and he slid down the length of the door, ending up in a trembling heap at its base. His head was spinning and he wanted to throw up but, at least, he was far from fainting. He couldn't allow himself to faint now - it was too dangerous.

Because, apparently, the man on the other side of the door was real. His yami was back, in flesh and blood of his own, banging on his door. His yami, the  _other him_ , the Thief, the spirit - Bakura - was back, even though he was supposed to be dead, or lost in the darkness, or in whatever afterlife had in store for him.

The door rattled again.

"I can see you're still there".  _Damn glass panels_. "Open up."

The yami's voice was fiercer now, his tone more commanding than before. Ryou cringed as a mess of sleeping memories stirred at the familiar sound. He instinctively reached for his chest in a gesture he had not made in years; he grabbed only the fabric of his sweater, right over his racing heart. No Ring there, which was a slight comfort but did not make any sense at all.

On the other hand, when did something about  _that man_  ever make any sense? He had been brought back from the - presumably - dead before. He had managed to withstand 3000 years of imprisonment in a piece of gold in order to ensure another chance in life. Apparently, hell had spat him back out again, Ring or no Ring.

Ryou swallowed this realization, feeling like he was being force-fed acid.

Not even five minutes back and that man already sounded like he'd never left at all, giving out orders with the nerve of a king and the promise of threat dripping off his voice, demanding to open this door so he can strut back into his life and destroy what little bit Ryou had managed to salvage.

Well, Ryou wouldn't have any of this. More than a decade had passed and he had felt the sting of every single day. He had felt time in his bones, had shed his sweet and innocent skin again and again until it had hardened. He was no longer a weak teenager; he was a twenty-nine-year-old man who had stopped putting up with everyone's shit a long time ago.

So, with the next command that slid through the cracks in the door, anger flared up in Ryou. This was not the 'good old days' anymore and he would show his yami just what toll every tock of the clock had taken on him.

"Damn it, open up, it's cold-"

Ryou jumped to his feet and turned the handle, almost prying it off with the force of swinging the door open. For barely a second, he took in the image of Bakura standing naked on his doorstep, sopping wet and haggard-looking, with a backdrop of rain and thunder. Then rage consumed all other emotions and Ryou pounced on his yami, grabbing him from whatever place he reached first and somehow ending with both hands on his throat.

Bakura staggered backwards from the momentum, with Ryou clawed on him like an enraged cat, until they both stood under the heavy rain once more.

"Eleven years", Ryou growled from the depths of his throat, barely recognizing his own voice. "Eleven. Fucking. Years. Eleven years gone!"

Bakura, who seemed ready to hiss another command, froze with his mouth half-open. His eyes met Ryou's - and <em>god damn him</em>, seeing his muddy-red irises from this close only helped to further stoke Ryou's fury.

"Eleven years free of you!" he screamed into the yami's face, ripping through an octave in exasperation.

Bakura's eyes widened a fraction, still fixed on Ryou. His frown slowly reversed to crinkle his temple in confusion.

"What...?" he breathed, his voice so low that Ryou barely heard it over the sound of rain. He wouldn't be sure whether Bakura had spoken at all, had he not seen the frail cloud of steam the little word had left behind.

"Why? Why are you back? Why now? Why?" Ryou shouted, not caring whether he tore his lungs apart or not, shaking Bakura so violently he felt his nails sink in skin.

Bakura's hands went up to Ryou's wrists to keep them still, but he did not try to wrestle himself free. His eyes were losing their angular edge by the second.

"What do you...? Eleven...?" he stammered through Ryou's grip on his throat, his gaze travelling wildly across his hikari's face as if he was trying to read something there. Ryou felt a small gasp catch between his fingers.

His yami was a fine actor but, unfortunately, Ryou was not buying it.

"WHY?" he roared. A streak of pain tinged his voice despite himself, infuriating him because he couldn't show weakness, not now, not to  _him_ -

"I don't know", Bakura answered, barely managing to make his hoarse voice audible over the rolling thunders.

Ryou wanted to laugh at that, but he was already spending all of his willpower in refraining from throttling the man before him.

"You lying son of a bi-"

"I'm not lying!" it was Bakura's turn to yell, annoyance creeping back into his frown.

"Bullshit", Ryou spat at him, not believing even for a moment that there was no masterplan behind the bewilderment in the yami's eyes.

"I'm not l-"

Ryou pushed him as hard as he could with a disgusted grunt and watched as he tripped several feet away from him. To Ryou's disappointment, the yami managed to regain his balance without falling over.

Bakura stayed where he ended up, breathing hard through his mouth without peeling his eyes off his hikari. His usual haughtiness had crumbled, giving its place to something more cautious and guarded. He seemed to have trouble standing completely straight; he was almost doubled over, shaking from the cold as he panted through blue lips.

The fairly pathetic image of his yami did nothing to sway Ryou. If anything, it enraged him even more to see him act all weak and lost. This was no time for games. He wanted an answer. A clear one; one that would grace this mess with at least a grain of logic. One that would mean that the last eleven years of struggle had not just went down the drain.

Ryou's face was burning and he knew that, for once, his fair skin was a bright red that not even the icy rain could cool down.

"How?" he asked this time, voice rumbling in its lowest possible notes.

Bakura huffed and opened his arms.

"I know nothing more than you d-"

"You bastard", Ryou seethed, tightening his hands into fists. Calling names was low, he knew that, but he didn't care. A little while ago, he wouldn't believe that he was capable of feeling such intense loathing, but he was proving himself wrong with every passing minute. He did not have the fondest memories of his yami, but nothing he had felt so far could compete with the hatred that surged through him now.

"How?" he repeated, voice rising.

"I told you, you stubborn brat. I don't know!" Bakura shouted back, his stance gaining something of his old confidence as his voice grew harsher.

Ryou actually managed to let out a sarcastic chuckle this time, a sound colder than the rain that trailed down his back.

"Is it the Ring this time? Or some other trinket?" he persisted.

"I told you, yadonushi, I d-"

He never managed to finish that sentence, because Ryou sprang forward and seized his neck, almost lifting him off the ground in his rage. He brought their faces so close that their identical noses touched.

"Call me that again and I'll send you back to wherever the hell you came from", he gritted out, his jaw clenched so hard that it hurt.

Bakura struggled in his grip, but Ryou was relentless. He did not care about anything else any more, except for hurting that man as much as he could. He felt that he could rip him apart, right then and there; and if dying didn't work this time either, he would kill him again, and again, until his anger dissipated.

However, when Bakura started making panicked guttural sounds, Ryou released him. The yami immediately backed off, gasping for air and massaging his throat.

Ryou took two deep breaths through his nose, aspiring to calm himself down before losing control again. His pulse was roaring in his head. He had to get out of there as fast as he could; he did not want to look at his yami a second longer.

He pointed a shaking finger at Bakura and said, voice wavering from restrained anger, "I'm not your yadonushi. I'm not your anything. I don't care why you're here, but stay away from me. You hear me? Stay. The hell. Away".

He did not give a chance to him to respond, he just turned him back on him and stormed off.

This time, Bakura did not try to stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... This chapter. This was supposed to be only half a chapter. This was also supposed to be 1500 words shorter. And the other half of the chapter was reserved for our other pair, Yuugi and Atem. Well, my plans certainly went out of the window, because this turned out much longer than I expected.
> 
> Expect to see Yuugi and Atem on the next chapter, though - and, hopefully, it will be even longer than this one.
> 
> As for Ryou and Bakura... You didn't expect a happy reunion there, did you?
> 
> No matter what, tell me what you think! Reviews make for great Christmas presents. Or, you know... Great late Christmas presents.
> 
> Happy remaining holidays to everyone, and happy new year! :D


	3. A bleak day for a homecoming

"Aibou? Aibou?"

Atem was crouched over the unconscious figure of Yuugi, shaking him as gently as he could despite his mounting panic.

"Aibou, please, talk to me".

Thankfully, his hikari stirred and his eyes fluttered open, revealing a set of violet irises with yet-unfocused pupils. Atem sighed with relief at those signs of life and let his hands drop to his sides, unsure of what else to do.

"Atem...?" Yuugi whispered, blinking as he searched blindly around him until his eyes met the pharaoh's.

Atem almost couldn't bear the warmth that spread through his body at this eye-contact. He felt as if his limbs were liquid and was glad that he was kneeling, or he might have found himself collapsing, too. As Yuugi's gaze cleared and sobered up, it alighted with recognition and something intense that the pharaoh couldn't really name.

"Atem, is that... you? Are you...?" Yuugi muttered in disbelief, stretching out a shaking hand. Atem leaned towards it slightly, almost imperceptibly; Yuugi's fingers found their way around the edge of his face and cupped his jaw.

Yuugi smiled just as tears filled his eyes, instantly spilling over and trailing down his cheeks. His thumb caressed Atem's cheek with a little more pressure than needed, as if double-checking to confirm that he was, indeed, solid.

"Aibou", Atem said, his voice coming out hoarse and quivering. It was a feeble sound, not befitting to a king, but there was a tightness in his throat that wouldn't let him speak clearly; and, the more he saw his partner's incredulity being replaced with sheer happiness, the tighter his throat felt.

Yuugi's hand shook against his jaw. Atem wanted to reach out and wipe the tears that wet Yuugi's cheeks but, before he could move, his hikari's arms were around him, pulling him into a hug so tight that his breath was knocked out of his lungs.

"Atem", Yuugi breathed in his ear, clutching at him like his life depended on it. Atem hugged him back, wrapping his arms around his shaking figure.

Yuugi hid his face in the crook of his yami's shoulder, sobbing hard and whispering incoherent words through his tears. Atem did not have to make out what his hikari was saying to understand him, but he was too overwhelmed to form words himself. Instead of saying something, he placed his hand on Yuugi's head, pulling him more securely in his embrace. After all, for them words had always been obsolete.

The yami's form melted against that of his hikari, their bodies locked in an embrace so tight it was hard to tell where the one ended and where the other begun. For a few blessed, otherworldly seconds, Atem felt like they were one and his soul shuddered at being whole again.

A few minutes earlier he had been gasping for air under the freezing rain, without a clue of how he had ended up in that place and with a feeling that his presence there was very,  _very_  wrong. His last memory was that of the gate opening after his duel with Yuugi; he could even recall catching glimpses of his family as he stepped into the blinding light. He had left this world for the afterlife, yet he had opened his eyes on a street he did not recognize, cold, naked, and in pain.

All of this had vanished when he saw Yuugi. Despite his partner being his most recent recollection, he felt like eons had passed since the last time he saw him. It was just like the time he had been roused from his three-thousand-year sleep in the Millennium Puzzle: he had felt the passage of time, even though he had no memories to show for it.

He did not know how many years had passed this time around, but he guessed they had been more than a few. He had noticed changes in Yuugi, even if he had been too overwhelmed to pay any real attention to them. Even as he buried his face in his other half's hair, he vaguely noted the absence of his trademark spikes and bangs.

Even though the warmth of Yuugi's body was bliss in the middle of the cold, rainy night, Atem tried to disentangle himself from his hikari in order to take a more proper look at him. Yuugi reluctantly let go and sat back, wiping his eyes as he took one sharp, watery inhale after the other. His eyes were red and still flooding with tears, but he was smiling so widely Atem couldn't help but smile back.

His partner looked different. It was not just the hair - which was just black, with no blond streaks or bangs, and pulled back into a neat ponytail - it was his face, too. Even through the redness and the general puffiness, Atem could discern the deeper-colored bags under Yuugi's eyes. His hikari's once juvenile face had harsher lines now, with more determined angles and less curves. He was obviously older; still, at that moment he was radiating with such happiness that Atem could see the familiar traces of his teenage partner behind the adult features.

Even though they were not hugging anymore, they had not taken their hands off each other. Atem kept his on Yuugi's shoulders, holding on to him since he was the first stable thing in a reality that had spun out of control, and Yuugi clutched at the pharaoh's arms, undoubtedly determined to not let go lest he disappeared.

"How?" Yuugi managed to ask, his voice thick with emotion.

Atem shook his head. The lack of an explanation did not seem to bother Yuugi; his smile did not fade in the slightest. He seemed to be on the verge of pulling Atem into another hug, but he didn't. Instead, he simply stared at him, drinking in the sight of him with a look of marvel on his face.

His hands left Atem's arms to travel along the rest of his body, gently prodding his shoulders, his chest, the top of his stomach, and finally coming to rest back on Atem's face. The yami could read the unspoken question in the wonder of Yuugi's face, but he still had no answers to give, no explanation as to how he was in a body of his own, completely separated by his partner. He had also been befuddled when he found out he had a physical form but no shared conscience. He estimated he had spent five minutes lying under the rain, searching for Yuugi in his head until he had to accept that he was alone in his body.

Yuugi's fingers were burning against his cold skin and he sighed in contentment when they cupped his face, his breath forming a tremulous stream of fog.

For the first time since he had opened his eyes in Atem's presence, Yuugi's brow furrowed with concern.

"Oh my gosh, Atem, you're freezing", he breathed, as if only just realizing that his yami was totally naked. He stood to take off his own coat and threw it over the pharaoh's shoulders. The garment was warm from Yuugi's body heat and, as Atem wrapped it around him, his other half's scent encircled him; he felt as if he was being hugged again.

He looked up at Yuugi, feeling the warmth seep until some spot deep into his chest.

"Thank you, aibou", he said in a low, weak voice.

"Don't be silly", Yuugi laughed, they joy returning to his eyes. "Can you stand?" he asked then, placing a helping hand on Atem's arm without really waiting for an answer.

"I think so", Atem murmured as he tried to climb to his feet.

"Let's get you upstairs or you'll freeze to death", Yuugi said, retrieving his briefcase and keys from the ground.

"Upstairs?" Atem mused. He looked at the entrance door and the building overhead. It rang no bells. This was not the Kame Game Shop.

"Yes. This is where I live", Yuugi replied to the pharaoh's inquiring look and hurried back to his side. He stretched out a supporting hand - Atem's legs were still obviously unstable - but the pharaoh did not move.

"Yuugi..." he said, his heart beating hard as a sudden anxiousness clawed at his insides, "what year is this?" Yuugi's look darkened considerably. "How much time has passed?" Atem pressed on.

His other half let out an exhale and placed his hand on the coat, over the spot where Atem's hand was. He was not looking at the pharaoh anymore. His gaze was downcast and, with his bubbly joy gone, the circles under his eyes looked even darker. "It's..." he murmured, then cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It's 2010. Soon to be 2011. You've been gone- I mean, it's been... Eleven years since..." He trailed off, his grip tightening momentarily on the thick folds of fabric that covered Atem's hand.

Atem felt as if his stomach was free-falling. Eleven years should not seem a lot; not to him, who had spent 3000 years trapped in the Puzzle and had experienced the shock of waking up in a world more changed than he could ever imagine. However, as he looked at Yuugi's changed features and the lines that sadness had carved on his face, he was rapidly coming to realize that, when you have left someone behind, eleven years is a long time.

"Yuugi..." he started off, even though he had no idea how to proceed.

Yuugi looked up. The smile had returned to his lips, even if not as wide as before. As he took in Atem's face once more, whatever shadow had darkened his eyes was lifted, letting them sparkle with happiness.

"Come on, let's go upstairs! I think we both need some tea and dry clothes".

Thankfully, Yuugi's building had an elevator, because Atem did not feel confident enough on his legs to climb to the seventh - and topmost - floor. When Yuugi turned the key in the lock, they were greeted with darkness, but it only took a few seconds and a flick of the light switch to leave Atem open-mouthed, despite his already high levels of amazement.

Yuugi's apartment spread on the entirety of the top floor, but the huge-airy space was not what had made Atem's jaw drop. It was the glass walls that seemed to circle the apartment, offering a stunning, unobstructed view of Domino with its myriad lights wavering under the heavy rain. A thunder flashed, illuminating the shapes of buildings with its harsh, silver light, making the countless austere rectangles look ethereal in the night.

This was so different from Yuugi's humble little bedroom over Kame Game Shop. Everything in the apartment looked expensive - in the polished, straight-lined way that characterized luxury in this age, full of reflective surfaces and flat colors. Atem had seen more than his share of luxury back in his time, but the cleanliness and neat lines of it all made him feel out of place. He expected something cozier of Yuugi, not a place someone like Kaiba would own.

"Make yourself at home", Yuugi said, closing the door behind them and startling Atem out of his wonder.

Then he stood at the hallway, looking at the pharaoh like he still had trouble believing he was there. He took in a long, happy inhale and said brightly, "Alright, I'm going to get you some warm clothes".

He took off his shoes and disappeared down a corridor, leaving Atem to drip mud and rainwater in the entrance hall floor. He did not move, even though his legs felt weak and he really wanted to sit down, until Yuugi came back with an armful of clothes and a smile still plastered on his face.

"Would you like a warm bath?" he asked him as he approached.

Atem shook his head. "I'm not certain I... have the energy for a bath", he replied, feeling his legs shake.

Yuugi noticed, too, and immediately slung an arm around his shoulders, guiding him further in the apartment and saying, "Why are you standing there? Come on, you need to sit down..."

"I didn't want to ruin your carpet, aibou", Atem said truthfully.

"Don't be ridiculous,  _other me_ ", Yuugi said with such affection that Atem felt a little more warmth expand from his chest to the rest of his body. "Here, sit..."

He pushed him into a plush leather sofa and left the pile of clothes next to him. Then Yuugi knelt in front of him, his huge eyes trained on his face with awe, adoration and a little bit of the sadness Atem had spotted previously.

"How do you feel?" Yuugi whispered, emotion constricting his throat once more.

Atem had to think about it. He felt weak and a little light-headed, but the stinging in his lungs had abated and he had no more trouble breathing. His body felt numb, but he supposed that was to be expected.

"I am fine, aibou. Just tired. And a little bit cold". He was, after all, still naked under the cover of Yuugi's coat.

"Oh, of course!" Yuugi exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I'll make us some tea, and... Do you need help with these?" he asked, looking at the pile of clothes.

"I think I'll manage", Atem replied with a gentle smile.

"Right", Yuugi said. He remained there, staring at the clothes and rolling his weight from the heel to the ball of his feet. "Right", he repeated. "Tea".

And he left. Atem heard the soft pattering of his sock-clad feet somewhere behind him, along with the sound of cupboards opening and closing and objects being placed on hard surface.

He let his hikari at it and turned to the pile of folded clothes. He took the topmost one: a soft, grey sweater with the embroidered picture of something strongly resembling Ammut on the chest. There was also a pair of simple, black pants, socks and a pair of boxers - in short, items much more discreet than what he used to find in teenager Yuugi's wardrobe. No leather pants nor extravagant chokers. Apparently, these were gone along with the spiky hair and the huge, ancient Egyptian accessories.

However, he couldn't help but smile fondly when he picked up the pair of pants and looked at the garment folded underneath. It was a simple tank top that must have once been black, though it now lay grey and threadbare. Countless washings had worn the fabric but, as Atem put it on, he felt it was a garment more regal than any king had ever worn.

He swallowed the thickness in his throat as he pulled the sweater over the old top and straightened it. Once he was fully dressed he stood up and turned to Yuugi; his other half was casting furtive glances towards him as he filled a kettle with water, a small smile playing on his lips and disbelief still etched on his features.

Atem walked over to the kitchen with unsure, unsteady steps. Yuugi flashed him a smile as he approached. "It's a good thing we don't have to worry over clothes' sizes", he joked as he looked him from head to foot.

Atem let out a tired chuckle and leaned against the counter, watching Yuugi as he flipped the kettle switch on and moved about in the kitchen, laying biscuits on a plate with trembling hands. He could see that his hikari was exhausted, too, even if he seemed to be overflowing with energy. A bit of the light in his eyes had dulled, making the tired lines of his face stand out more. Despite the smile that never left his lips, there was a crease in his brow of some concern that wouldn't leave him, though it seemed to ease a bit every time he glanced at the pharaoh.

Yuugi jumped when the kettle made a clicking sound. He grabbed it and poured boiling water in two mugs, saying, "Atem, do you want...? I mean, sugar or...? Or...? Oh,  _god_ ", he ended up moaning, setting the kettle down and hiding his face in his hands.

Atem heard him take deep, ragged breaths through his fingers.

He rushed to his side and placed a hand around his shoulders, muttering softly, "Aibou? What's wrong?"

Yuugi shook his head without revealing his face. "It's... It's..." he begun, voice stifled by his palms. When he finally lowered his hands, he looked at Atem with red-rimmed and almost imploring eyes. "It's all so crazy", he exhaled. "You... Being here, with a body... After all this time... I thought I'd never see you again and... I'm asking if you want sugar in your tea, I'm... I don't know what -  _god_  - I..." he stammered before letting a dry sob and dropping his head back into his hands.

Atem looked down at him, feeling his body tremble under his arm. He couldn't think of what to say; the tightness in his throat had returned.

"I am happy, Atem, I really am", Yuugi moaned through his fingers.

It was the sadness with with this statement was tinged that made Atem feel like something heavy settled in his chest. He tried to look past the fingers covering Yuugi's face while squeezing his hikari's shaking shoulders.

"Yuugi", he uttered his name like a caress, "what is wrong?"

Yuugi let out another sob and threw himself on Atem, hugging him again and somehow managing to hide his face in his shoulder even though they had the same height.

"You've been gone for so long", he wailed against his shoulder. "You've been... I've missed you so much". His grip on him turned painful.

Atem stroked his other half's hair. "I am sorry", he whispered; it was all he could manage.

"Don't!" Yuugi breathed. "No, you had to go on, I was happy for you, I am, I-" He took a deep breath. "It's just that... Things have changed so much while you're gone. Things are... Things have been... It's hard, you know?"

Atem realized that, despite his obvious distress and heaving body, Yuugi was not crying. Indeed, when he pulled himself away, his eyes were dry, even though all happiness had given its place to melancholy. It wasn't grief; it was something more subtle, something that settles bit by bit over the years, accumulating around the eyes and between the brows.

"I... I..." Yuugi stammered again. He let out an awkward chuckle and glanced at the mugs. "I should really make that tea. We have a lot of catching up to do".

Five minutes later they were both sitting on the couch, each clasping a steaming mug and Atem having a blanket thrown like a cape around his shoulders. Yuugi blew at the contents of his mug, eyeing the pharaoh through the steam.

"So..." he started off. "You have no idea how...  _this_  happened?"

"No, nothing", Atem admitted gravely. "The last thing I remember was the gate opening after our duel".

He watched Yuugi's brows scrunch up in a pained expression at the mention of the Ceremonial Duel. "No other memories?"

Atem shook his head. "Next thing I knew, I was lying on the street, under the rain".

"You just... materialized there? Out of thin air?" Yuugi asked in bewilderment.

"It seems so".

Yuugi stared at him for a few minutes, probably trying to figure out some explanation by himself. After a while he gave up and asked, "What happened exactly? I mean", he added hastily, " _if_  you want to tell me. I don't want to pressure you if you feel-"

"Aibou", Atem said reassuringly, effectively stopping Yuugi's anxious rant, "you can ask me anything you want".

Yuugi gave him a small, thankful smile that made Atem feel like his connection with his other half was something alive and buzzing. He sat up straighter in the cushions and tried to hark back to the exact minute of his awakening.

"I can't remember anything before opening my eyes. It was like waking up from deep sleep", he said slowly, picturing the moment in his head. "At first, it was very hard to breathe. It was like my body didn't want to cooperate. Then I calmed down a bit and everything became clearer. That's when I saw you".

Yuugi gasped. "Me? Where? I didn't see you!"

"You were walking down the street towards me. I... I didn't recognize you at first", he said in a low voice, feeling slightly embarrassed, "but I did when you walked past me".

Yuugi's mouth kept opening and closing as he searched for the right question. "How... How did I not...?"

"You looked deeply troubled", Atem said, his voice rumbling low in solemnity as he cast Yuugi a knowing look.

Under the pharaoh's concerned scrutiny, he shifted uncomfortably, looking like he knew he had some answers to give even before a question was uttered out loud.

The question came nonetheless. "Aibou... What is wrong? What has happened while I was gone? Things are..." Atem indicated the apartment around them with a weak swipe of his hand before returning his gaze to his hikari's tired face. "Things are different", he concluded, voice pleading for answers.

"Okay", Yuugi sighed. "Okay. The basics first. I, umm..." He lifted his left hand to the level of Atem's eyes; he saw a golden band around his ring finger.

Atem felt his eyes go wide. "Married?" he asked, wondering how he did not see the ring earlier. When Yuugi nodded, he ventured a guess. "To Anzu?"

A melancholic smile that held no joy spread across his hikari's lips. "For the past five years".

"Congr-"

"And we're getting a divorce", Yuugi cut across him, leaving Atem open-mouthed. "Yeah..." he admitted sadly. Then he stayed silent for a while, looking lost in his thoughts, before adding, "At least, I think we are".

"What?"

"I saw her this evening and she said some things that I, umm... I'll have to think about". He sighed for what felt the hundredth time and pinched the top of his nose with his fingers, closing his eyes and letting fatigue wash over his face. "Okay, one thing at a time", he said when he opened them again. "I work at a gaming company, I design-"

"No, wait", Atem said. "Don't change the subject. What happened with Anzu?"

"It... didn't work out", Yuugi shrugged. Atem noticed that he was avoiding his gaze as he said that.

"You can tell me the truth, Y-"

"I don't wanna talk about it", Yuugi snapped with uncharacteristic coldness.

Atem frowned, unnerved with the fact that this coldness seemed to be directed at his person.

However, Yuugi regretted it quickly, for he said in a much softer voice, "I am sorry, I just... I really don't want to talk about it now".

"Alright", Atem murmured and took a sip from his mug to cover his unease over this version of his other half.

The silence that fell between them was awkward and tense; not the kind of silence that had a place in such a reunion. Atem felt it and tried to ease his hikari back into speaking.

"So... Gaming company?"

"Oh- oh, yes!" Yuugi blurted out, evidently grateful for the change of subject.

He started talking about his job, explaining to Atem what he did for a living and finding a bit of his enthusiasm back now that Anzu was left out of the conversation. Atem wanted to ask more about it because he felt that this was the issue - or rather, one of the issues - that troubled Yuugi the most. He wanted to know what had happened to make his other half this sad, fierce protectiveness surging through him at the thought that Yuugi had been hurt while he was gone. Still, he decided to let the matter of his marriage go for now and laid back, listening.

He enjoyed the vivvid and excited gestures his lighter half was making, even though he could not follow half the things he was saying. He had missed his partner, even if the last eleven years were but a blink of an eye for him. Nevertheless, he could not shake off his unrest about the profound sadness that was embedded in his hikari's features, the one that no amount of excitement could conceal. He was not the Yuugi he remembered; he was a Yuugi that had been through a lot, alone. He was a Yuugi that resembled the rest of the unhappy, tired, anxious people of this era. His hikari, who had always stood out for his generosity, amicability, his pure spirit, his light - darkened.

"Atem?"

"Hmm?" he was startled out of his musings to realize that he had heard nothing of the things Yuugi had been saying for the past minutes.

"Are you okay? You look funny", Yuugi asked him, clearly worried.

"Yes, I... I'm trying to process all the changes", he replied with as a reassuring smile as he could manage.

"I'm talking too much, I'm sorry", Yuugi mumbled, frustrated with himself.

"Do not apologize, aibou. I want to hear more about your life".

"Not about my job, though. I got carried away. So, you ask me". His hikari sat up with an excited smile that was trying hard to give some spark back to his tired eyes. "What do you want to know?"

Atem didn't know where to begin. The matter of Anzu was too raw, so it would be best to leave that for another conversation, once emotions would not run so high and Yuugi would be less likely to snap again. He could not possibly know what other subject would be sensitive, so he went for the safest bet.

"What happened to the Game Shop?"

"Oh, it's still there, as you know it. Only, Mom and Dad run it these days".

"What about Grandpa?"

Yuugi's smile wavered and disappeared.

_Shit._

"He... You know, he got very sick six or sever years ago, and he..." Yuugi trailed off, eyes fixed on his mug.

"I am so sorry", Atem said quietly.

Yuugi waved a hand way too nonchalantly to actually mean it. "You know, you might have stumbled into him in the afterlife and not remember it".

Atem did not laugh at this feeble attempt at a joke. He had also spent years living with Sugoroku and had grown very fond of the old man, so the hitch of pain in his chest was not entirely unexpected.

"What I mean is..." Yuugi went on, in a more serious tone this time, "I'm sure he is fine there. I know he is somewhere... nice".

Atem nodded. "I am sure he is".

He wanted to move closer and hug his hikari to comfort the wetness of his eyes away, but he didn't move. He wasn't really sure what he was and what he wasn't entitled to do. He might feel like not a day had passed since the last time they had been together, but his partner was no longer his teen-aged protégé. He was a grown up man, as everything on him constantly reminded him.

"Okay", Yuugi cleared his throat and forced a smile back on his face, "let me tell you about Jounouchi, you won't believe-"

He was interrupted by a shrill sound that made them both jump. Atem looked around expecting to meet some kind of threat, but Yuugi set his mug down at the coffee table and got to his feet.

"It's my phone", he explained as he darted to where he had left his coat. He fished the ringing device out of a pocket and tapped the screen before bringing it to his ear.

"Hello, Yuugi Mutou sp-  _Ryou?_ " he exclaimed, as a voice blared through the small device loud enough for Atem to hear it. "Ryou, is that you?"

"Bakura?" Atem wondered aloud, setting down his mug too and looking intently at Yuugi's reactions.

"Hey, hey, calm down", Yuugi was saying. "Calm down, I can't-" Then his eyes went very wide. "Oh. Oh, I see. Yes. Yes... I know, Ryou, I know. Yes, Atem is here, too", he said, looking at the pharaoh as he eyes teared up with joy again. "Yeah, he-" he coughed the emotion out of his voice, "I don't know, he just appeared on the- Ryou, please, slow down and tell me what- Oh. Aha. Aha- look, deep breaths, please Ryou, breathe".

Even though Atem could only hear Yuugi's side of the conversation, it was not hard to deduce what was going on. The Spirit of the Millennium Ring had returned, too. His arch-nemesis was back in Domino and, clearly, had already met his former host.

He stood up and made to approach Yuugi, but he held out a hand to him, gesturing him to wait, his focus on the voice issuing from the earpiece.

"You talked to him?" Yuugi asked, his voice taking a worried edge. He sighed deeply and covered his eyes with his free hand. "How are you?" he asked then, very quietly, almost intimately.

The reply that came from the other end of the line was so loud that Yuugi had to hold the phone several inches away from his ear.

"What- What- Hey, Ryou! Stop shouting!" Yuugi yelled back, trying to be heard over the ceaseless stream of muffled shouting. He breathed hard into the receiver before asking, "Did he hurt you?"

More muffled shouting. Yuugi rolled his eyes and said, "Okay, okay, where is he now? Hey, calm down, don't- Yeah... What did he-?" he asked with indignation, eyes widening. "Did you call the police? Oh, the- I see, yeah. Listen, Ryou- no,  _listen_ ", he hissed imperatively. "Keep the door locked and stay inside, okay? And... Yes, Atem is here with me. Yes, it's..." He shifted his weight from foot to foot in apparent discomfort. "Yes, look. Have you tried contacting Malik? Oh right, I forgot... Okay, look", he closed his eyes, looking like he took some kind of unpleasant decision. "Stay inside and if things get weird, I'll come over. No, I..." He made a long pause, listening to something Ryou was saying. "Are you sure?", he asked at length. "I know, but if you need me..."

There was his hikari. Not the unnerving, adult version of him, but the one Atem had known for years: always worrying about others even when he was in a pinch himself, always ready to help and comfort those that he cared about.

Affection blossomed in Atem's chest as he watched Yuugi sigh and say, "Are you sure about this Ryou? You can come over if you w- Okay... Okay, here's what we'll do. You'll stay in, lock every door and stay safe until morning, okay? Then someone will pick you up and bring you here and we'll discuss this together. Yeah... Yes, I'll text everybody. I don't know, I'll call in sick. Yeah, yeah, Ryou, listen. Umm..." Yuugi withdrew a bit and lowered his voice. "Do you still have those pills the doctor gave you? ...Yes, those ones. Yes. Okay. Yes. Don't worry, everything will be fine, alright? I'll see you in the morning. Be careful. Yeah... Call me if you need me, okay? Right... Bye".

He hung up and let out a drawn-out exhale, rubbing his eyes. When he opened them, he looked at Atem, his exhaustion back full-force.

"Guess what", he said darkly.

"The Thief is back", Atem said at once.

Yuugi nodded gravely and threw his mobile on the couch before plopping himself down next to it.

"Where is he now?" Atem asked, not sitting down himself. He could feel adrenaline slowly washing away his own fatigue; he felt ready to take action without hesitation.

Contrary to him, Yuugi seemed ready to fall apart from exhaustion. He rubbed his eyes again as he said, "Ryou doesn't know. He was under his building, but he's not there anymore".

"He let him go?" Atem asked incredulously.

Yuugi shot him a stern look that would have never appeared on his teenage face yet, somehow, fitted perfectly with the features of his adult self. "What would you have him do? Invite him upstairs for tea? They're not  _us_ , Atem".

"He should have kept an eye on him", his yami insisted.

"You can't ask something like that of Ryou! The Spirit is dangerous, you know that. And Ryou is..." Yuugi's sight got lost, focusing on nothing in particular. For a minute he appeared to look at something very far away, and then murmured, "He should stay away from him. It's better this way".

"Alright", Atem backed down, if only because he agreed that there was not much that Ryou Bakura could do. He remembered the boy; he was sweet and kind, albeit weak and frail. Of course, he would be a man now, too, but still there was not much a person like that could do against the King of Thieves.

They would have to take matters into their own hands.

Yuugi pressed his palms to his eyes and groaned to the ceiling, "How did things become so...  _Urgh!_ "

Atem walked past him and stood before the glass wall. He looked outside, at the city that spread before him, its million colored lights blinking at him. Somewhere in those streets the Thief was prowling, perhaps already wreaking havoc...

"I have to organize a meeting", Yuugi announced at his back.

Atem turned around to face him. "You think it's wise to wait until morning?"

"We'll have to. There's nothing else we can do, we can't track down the Spirit now".

"We could tr-"

"No, Atem, we couldn't", Yuugi cut across him harshly. "It's late, it's cold, it's raining, and Domino is bigger than you remember. You need rest and, frankly, so do I. And, judging by the state you're in, I don't think Bakur- I mean, the Thief, will have the energy for mischief tonight".

Atem was ready to argue further, so Yuugi stood up and placed his hands on his shoulders, looking at him with serious eyes.

"I don't think there's much he can do,  _other me_. Shadow magic is gone. The Millennium Items are in a museum in Cairo, well protected and completely powerless".

"How do you know?"

"Malik", Yuugi said, as if this answered everything.

"Malik Ishtar?"

"Yes", Yuugi said tiredly. He gave a gentle pat at Atem's shoulder and went back to the couch. He picked up his phone and started texting furiously.

Atem recognized a lost battle when he saw one, so he did not press on. What little bit of adrenaline had invigorated him was fading away quickly, leaving him completely spent. Yuugi was right, they both needed rest - and if the Thief felt anything like he did, then they did not have to worry this night.

"The rest of the gang will be thrilled to see you", Yuugi said softly, fingers flying over the tiny keypad of his phone. The screen was illuminating his face in a weird way, but the smile he gave Atem looked overtly sweet despite of that.

"I'll be glad to see them, too", Atem hummed, returning the smile.

However, when he turned his back again on his partner, his smile faded. He looked at his reflection on the glass, taking notice at his own appearance for the first time that night. His hikari's hair might be black and straight now, but his own had their usual, wildly-spiked shape with the blond streaks. He pushed a golden tuft away from his eyes, while he could not help but wonder if this - if  _he_  - was the only thing remaining unchanged. Once more, he had opened his eyes to find that more than a few things were not the way he expected.

Of course, last time the change had worked out for the best, so...

He sighed, his breath fogging the cold glass that separated him from the rest of Domino. Rain was still pouring relentlessly over the maze of buildings and streets, making the city look strangely vacant.

One thing he was sure of: he had chosen quite a bleak day for his return.

* * *

Malik Ishtar was leaving that night's set, mumbling curses under his breath in Arabic. The shooting had took longer than he anticipated and he was beyond exhausted - not to mention hungry. He zipped up his leather jacket and pulled his mobile phone out his pocket, yawning widely as he glanced at the screen.

The moment the screen lit up, his yawn cut in half.

He had five missed calls from Ryou, a whapping twenty-three missed calls from Ishizu and a text from Yuugi.

"What the...?" he breathed, blinking just in case fatigue was playing tricks on his eyes.

He quickly came to the conclusion that something must have been very wrong; this number of missed calls was unusual, even by Ishizu's standards.

However, since in his dictionary  _five_  missed calls from Ryou meant greater trouble than  _twenty-three_  missed ones from his sister, he made up his mind fairly quickly. He was about to speed-dial Ryou's number when his phone vibrated from an incoming call.

The screen read  _Ishizu_  and Malik groaned.

"Hey, sis, what's up? I was just about to-"

" _Malik_ ", his sister's voice reached him, more anxious and strained than he had heard it in years. " _I have bad news_ ".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. Boy, this chapter. I think I wrote my hand into another tendinitis.
> 
> I know it's huge but, once started, it was hard to stop. Writing about Yuugi and Atem is so easy, and just feels so natural. I really enjoy writing about these two.
> 
> You can't believe how excited I am about Yuugi's apartment. It's stupid, but I was writing about it and was like "whoa, Mr Mutou". Plus, I had so much fun thinking about Abridged Atem's reaction - something along the lines of saying smugly: "Finally, an apartment worthy of a king such as I! No more smelly teenager beds!" XD
> 
> How about some feedback to let me know what you think? *bats eyelashes*


	4. The homeless king

Bakura was hurrying across unknown streets, his bare feet splashing through puddles of cold rainwater. Both his hands were gripping at the towel he had wrapped around his bony hips, trying to keep it in place.

His host - well,  _former_  host - had thankfully dropped this towel at some point during their encounter, so Bakura had managed to cover himself up a bit. Still, it was less than enough. The fabric was soaked and heavy because of it, and he had to hold it in place lest it slips. It did nothing to protect him from the cold but, at least, it concealed his private parts.

Not that he attracted any less attention this way. He noticed all sorts of weird glances directed to his person, even though he tried to remain in the shadows, away from crowded streets.

He cursed through chattering teeth, his breath forming an angry stream of fog. This was all his idiot yadonushi's fault. Instead of acting like a proper host, he had left him out in the rain to freeze; and, on top of that, he had called the cops when Bakura had kept on ringing his doorbell and shouting to let him in.

Idiot yadonushi. How was he supposed to know what had happened? How was he supposed to know  _why_  he was back? All he knew was that he should be in the afterlife, not in the freezing streets of Domino - and eleven years later, no less.

Eleven years. It was hard to wrap his head around that one. Sure, it was nothing compared to the three thousand years he had spent in the Millennium Ring, but this time he did not have the Ring. And, this time, he did not have a host. He had a body of his own.

That's not how this thing was supposed to work.

"Idiot yadonushi", he grumbled under his breath, readjusting the towel around his hips. He would have gladly gone back and attempted to enter his apartment by force but, apparently, his hikari had grown some balls in those last eleven years. Bakura was not fit enough for another confrontation - and he wanted to avoid the cops by all means - so he would have to find some other place to spend the night. And some other way to obtain some clothes.

He groaned in frustration and leaned against a wall. He was trembling all over and he could barely feel his feet. He was in dire need of some clothes. Anything would do, as long as it wasn't that pathetic towel. And then, once he would be less likely to attract unwanted attention, he could go and find a place to stay and, preferably, some food.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts.

Okay. First things first. Clothes.

He could try and rob a shop, but he did not feel that this was an ideal solution. He had no weapons, no tools, and he had no idea how much security systems had advanced. He was ready to bet that alarms would be even more annoying now; he would definitely have to do some research before attempting burglary in this age.

Next option: the clueless passer-by. Always a trusty route to take. Of course, without the Ring or even a knife, a mugging would be more challenging, but he would have to make do.

He withdrew in a shadowy corner, scanning the street for a victim. Ideally a woman, with her wallet conveniently stored in a purse. Bonus points if she wore high heels, or was old, or looked in any way unlikely to chase him down the street. He needed an easy victim since he was not up for much; he still had trouble coordinating his limbs and the cold and hunger did not help the situation.

His gaze fell on a man that walked down the road towards him, alone. Bakura squinted to take a better look at him. He was a middle-aged man, leisurely strolling despite the downpour, hidden under the safety of his umbrella. It was not the kind of victim Bakura had in mind, but the man was laden with shopping bags, most of which bore the logos of well-known clothing brands.

Bakura let a triumphant grin tug at his mouth. That was as good a prey as any; and at the moment, it was even more efficient than stealing a wallet.

He drew back in the shadows, fixing his eyes on the approaching man. He felt mildly embarrassed at the thought that he, the King of Thieves, was about to steal a couple of freaking shopping bags, but no matter. This was just a minor setback, thanks to that idiot yadonushi of his. Once he had that man's clothes - and perhaps his wallet - he could go and find a warm place to spend the night. He had not idea what he was supposed to do next, but he would figure it out... eventually.

He tied the towel as best as he could, counting the man's steps and calculating the ideal moment to reveal himself. He would have to act fast, he knew that. Threats and fighting would not cut it; he'd have to grab the bags, grab the wallet if he can, and run.

The man walked past Bakura without noticing him, with his face hidden under his umbrella. The thief gave himself enough time to draw in a deep, readying breath, and slithered out of his hiding spot.

The sound of his bare feet was covered by that of rain and of traffic from the nearby street. He ran towards his oblivious victim, blood flooding his cold muscles and pumping them back to life. He sped up, ignoring the protests of the tender flesh of his feet as it scraped against the gravel.

The rush of stealing overtook him, plunging him for a while into another time and another era. Elation and excitement widened his grin. When his fingers closed around the handles of the bags, he felt like the Thief King despite his petty loot. He grasped them and made to run without lingering to spot a wallet - he was satisfied enough with what he had managed to grab - feeling life truly surging through him for the first time since he had opened his eyes. For a couple of seconds, he felt lighter than the feather of Ma'at, holding his loot in one hand and feeling the wind under his feet.

Then his elation and triumph popped like a short-lived bubble. A violent tug threw him out of balance and he saw the world spin and tilt before his back hit the hard ground. The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs and the light out of his vision. He found himself unable to do anything besides groaning among the puddles of water; unable to react or even perceive what had happened.

Then he heard a concerned voice somewhere close to him.

"Hey man... Are you okay?"

Bakura blinked and managed to spot the man he had tried to mug standing three feet away from him. He looked calm enough, with his shopping bags and his umbrella still in his hands and his feet poised in what Bakura vaguely recognized as a fighting stance.

Adrenaline and cold panic shot through Bakura, muffling the pain and the cold and the disorientation and highlighting one single thought: he had messed up. He had to get out of there before the man called the cops.

He tried to scramble to his feet, eyes looking for the fastest possible route of escape, when his would-be victim's voice made him freeze.

"Hey... Do you need help?"

Bakura slowly turned towards the man, sufficiently taken aback to stop mid-crouch and try to figure out whether he had heard correctly. The man looked genuinely concerned, all furrowed brows and crinkled forehead.

"You don't look good, man. Do you need help?" he asked again, taking one cautious step towards Bakura very much the same way one would approach a wild animal.

The thief tensed but he did not move. Embarrassment had immobilized him. Not only his victim did not look frightened in the least, but he was offering to help him when he had just tried to mug him. Was he really so pathetic that he could induce nothing but pity?

Well, he  _was_  pitiful. He was wearing nothing but a towel and had just tried to steal shopping bags.

He felt an urge to run away that had nothing to do with the fear of approaching cops.

"Hey, if you need some money, I can-"

The man was about to take out his wallet, but Bakura did not stay to hear the rest of it. He sprang to his feet and ran away as fast as he could, ignoring the man that shouted at him to wait.

Sure, he needed some help and he sure as hell needed the money, but he was the freaking Thief King. He might have just tried to steal two shopping bags, but he had not stooped so low as to accept charity.

He ran, making turns to the most deserted alleys he encountered, wanting to avoid other people more than anything. When he deemed he was far enough, he stopped and instantly doubled over, panting hard. His newborn lungs were burning again and a sharp pain in his feet told him that his skin had been scraped off from his run on the rough ground but, at the moment, he did not care. At the moment, all he felt was shame and a great deal of exasperation.

He wanted to scream his frustration to the sky, let out the pressure that was building up in his chest, but that would only attract more attention. He let his fingers slip into his wet hair and pulled at their roots until the pain made stars pop in his vision. In the end he could not hold back a desperate cry; it tore itself from his chest despite his will, harsh and feral like that of a rabid animal that had just been cornered.

All of this was wrong. All of it; not just the cold and the rain and the towel and the fact that he had been incapable to steal a bag. He should not be there in the first place. He did not ask for it. Not this time. He had made that mistake once, prompted by Zorc and an unquenchable thirst for revenge, but that was over. Zorc was gone - he did not have to probe deep into his soul to realize that. He remembered that the Pharaoh had defeated him. He remembered the darkness being ripped from his body.

It was over - it was supposed to be over. He was tired. Three thousand years were too much and had left him so, so fucking  _tired_.

This was wrong. he had reached the afterlife and, even though he could not remember details, he could recall a feeling of serenity he had not experienced ever since he was a child. Before, he had almost forgotten what peace was supposed to feel like. Now that he knew, it was snatched from between his fingers.

Nothing about this mess was fair. He shouldn't be standing under the rain in a street in Domino. He wasn't supposed to, and he didn't want to.

He drove his fist into one of the walls that lined the narrow alley, wanting to vent his anger on something. Thankfully, the plaster was old and crumbled under his fist. Pain surged through him even so, but he was beyond caring. He did not want this body; he wanted nothing to do with it or this life or this god-damned city.

He let his head fall forward until his forehead hit the disintegrating wall. Slowly, he sank to his knees and remained there, with his forehead against the wall and breathing in the smell of rain, old garbage and cat piss being washed away by the downpour.

He was exhausted.

Raindrops were hitting his skin sharply. His body was shaking violently, trying to work up some warmth. He would definitely take sick after this - perhaps even earn an infection from walking bare-footed on these alleys. That is, if he decided to  _stay_. At that moment, the only thing he wanted was to go back to the afterlife, to grasp again that fleeting feeling of serenity.

He could do that. He could end this. But who could guarantee that he would manage to reach the afterlife? He had been reborn - for lack of a better term. He might be denied the afterlife again. He did not know how or why he was there, and whatever had caused this might keep bringing him back. It could be worth a shot, but he did not want to end up going through the agony of being reborn again and again.

No. He had to be smart about this. First he had to work out some answers. Once he made sure that this mess would not be repeated, he could go on and rest undisturbed.

That meant he was back to point zero. He needed clothes, shelter and food. And money, if he aspired to remain in this world long enough to make some sense out of this situation.

He stood up, having earned a bit of his determination back. He looked around. He was alone in a narrow, deserted alley; no stores or doors or people could be seen.

He would not attempt to steal again that night. He did not have the energy to. He started walking, quite aimlessly, looking for anything that could be considered an adequate shelter. He ended up following the little streams of rain that rolled down the streets, carrying away garbage and flooding over overflowing gutters.

It took him a while to realize that the course of the water was leading him to the harbor. When the dark sea came into view past the buildings, Bakura frowned. The cold would be even sharper there; he'd better head back downtown. He was just about to do that when a voice made him jump.

"Psst! Hey, pal!"

He turned around and saw a small group of people huddled at the mouth of a nearby alley. Homeless, by the looks of it; wrapped in ill-fitting, dirty clothes and numerous scarves and trying to warm themselves with a small fire that burned in a tin barrel. At least, the spot where they were standing looked fairly protected by the rain.

"Are you lost?" one of them shouted at him.

Bakura hesitated. The orange glow of the fire was too tempting.

His undying Thief King pride pinched at him, reminding him that he needed no one's help nor charity of any kind. Then the desperate tremor of his muscles brought him back to his senses.

"Oh, what the hell", he murmured to himself, silencing the whining of his pride, and crossed the road to approach the group.

* * *

Morning came, brisk and humid after the night's downpour. The air above the city was clear and the last clouds were dispersing rapidly, revealing patches of blue sky. It was a beautiful morning in the eyes of those who could appreciate such a thing, but Bakura was not one of them.

He woke up curled against the wall of a deserted shop and shivering despite the blanket he had wrapped himself with. Next to him, the three men he had encountered the previous night were still fast asleep on their makeshift beds of cartons and old blankets.

Bakura climbed to a sitting position and propped his aching back against the wall. He tried to stretch a bit, to alleviate the pain of his stiff muscles, but cold crept into his limbs and he curled in on himself again. Thankfully, he was wearing clothes. The men he had met might be homeless, but between the three of them they managed to gather a few spare garments. So, at the moment, Bakura was wearing the oversized and positively stinking clothes they had given him and had wrapped himself in an equally stinking blanket. At least, they were clothes, and that was much better than a towel.

He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but his nose was clogged. All in all, he felt like shit. He supposed he had taken sick, after all, and it felt weird. He wasn't used to it. He couldn't remember ever being sick back in Egypt and, as for the time when he possessed Ryou's body... Well, he couldn't really feel anything back then. He felt no pain or hunger when he took control of his host's body - something that had proved infinitely convenient.

He was famished now. They might have given him clothes, but they had had no food to share. The feeling in his stomach was  _painful_. Plus, it was not like he had an abundance of body fat to rely on; he was literally just skin and bones. He had come to the conclusion that, somehow, he had been reborn in a replica of Ryou's current body. He could not be sure of the way Ryou's body looked right now, but what he saw on him was not much different from his host's body from eleven years earlier. He was still lanky and too thin to be considered healthy. Moreover - and this had been his best clue so far - he had a round, silvery scar in the center of his left palm, a jagged one on his bicep and several small, bumpy ones on his abdomen. So yeah, he was ninety-nine per cent sure that this was Ryou's body.

Not that this made him any happier. He had the body of a weakling. It made him miss his solid, muscular body with the tanned skin and the scars he bore like a prize. His old body had been one worthy of a Thief King; it had been proof of his power, his determination and his fierceness. This one was... just pathetic. And, if he was to bear scars, he would much prefer to have righteously earned them.

However, in a way he was responsible for these scars, too. He was the one who had inflicted them.

He shrugged off the thought; it was not important at the moment. He had other things to think about: how to find food, money and shelter. He did not want to spend another night in the street. And he really wanted to find proper clothes. He was grateful for the ones he was wearing, but he could smell their stench even through his clogged nose.

One of the other men stirred and sat up.

"Well, good morning. Did you sleep well?" he asked Bakura with a humorless grin.

"Can't say that I did", the thief grumbled in response.

"I'd like to say that you'll get used to it... But you won't really", the man said as he rubbed his eyes.

"I'm planning to let it be a one-time thing".

"That's what we all hoped at first".

Bakura simply let out a non-committal grunt. When these guys had started asking questions the night before, he had told them that his landlord had thrown him out. It wasn't a lie, even though he didn't mean it exactly the way they thought he did.

"So... What  _do_  you plan to do?"

Bakura shifted on the cardboard he had been sitting on. The first thing to do would be, of course, to obtain some money. He could try stealing again, but it had occurred to him that something more stable would not be that bad an idea.

"Do you know where a man like me can earn some money?" he asked.

"What, you mean like a job?"

"If that's what you want to call it".

"We'd all love a proper job and stuff-"

"No", Bakura interrupted, his impatience growing. "I don't mean a  _proper job_. I mean lots of money - and fast".

He could have worked it out himself if he had the time and the confidence to get reacquainted with the city, but he had neither. All he wanted was to get off the street. He might have thought twice before asking for help if his pride was not already at an all-time low.

"Oh. I see", the man said, sobering up and straightening his back. "That depends. How much are you willing to do?"

"Enough to be useful to the right person".

The other man shook his head. "I can't work with that, pal".

"I can steal. I can fight", or  _I'll be able to once I train this weak thing of a body_ , he thought. Then he narrowed his eyes and added, "I can kill".

"I see", the man nodded slowly. "Then perhaps you could go and have a talk with Mr Ishido".

"Who is he?"

"You'll find out once you meet him. If you're really sure about this".

'Where do I find him?" Bakura asked, throwing the blanket off him and standing up, eager to get going as soon as possible.

* * *

Three quarters of an hour later, he found himself standing in front of a building in a very questionable neighborhood. He had to cross a maze of alleys to get there; alleys which was apparent the police had never set foot on. The law had probably given up on that part of the city a long time ago.

Bakura squinted at the building in front of him, ignoring the groaning of a junkie that had collapsed a few feet further. He was certain this was the right place, but he could not help but hesitate in front of the door. Despite the fact that it was morning, above the door flashed neon pink letters that read  _The Golden Egg_ in hideous cursive. He could hear a few very suggestive moans coming from the open windows above.

Still, he did not hesitate for long. After all, it was either this or the street. It would do no harm to take a look. If he didn't like this Ishido guy and what he offered, he could always leave. And, if it came to the worst... Well, he would get to see whether he would indeed return to the afterlife or not.

He took a step forward and rang the doorbell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came out of nowhere. I was about to write the meeting at Yuugi's place - I really was! - when I thought about Bakura. I couldn't help but wonder, "where is he?", "what is he doing?", "is he wreaking havoc, just the way Atem expects him to?" I just had to answer these questions.
> 
> I know it wasn't a particularly upbeat chapter, but Bakura is at a pretty low point. And expect to see more (and worse) criminal behavior from Bakura in the future. I realize this might not make him super-likeable, but I'll make up for it... eventually.
> 
> I don't know if any of the stuff I've included in the chapter above calls for a warning tag - tell me if you think so and I'll add some.
> 
> So! Now that I'm done with Bakura, I can move on and write about the gang and the meeting.
> 
> Until then... How about a review, for some extra motivation? :D


	5. The meeting

The first thing Atem noticed when he woke up was the bright sunlight that hit his eyes. The second was the pain in his back, as he lay in a very uncomfortable position on Yuugi's leather couch. Next to him, his hikari was still fast asleep, with his head on the armrest and his legs tucked underneath him. There was no other sound in the room apart from Yuugi's slow breathing and the light rustle of his clothes as his chest rose and fell, following that rhythm. A stray sun ray had made its way through the window and up to Yuugi's head, lending to his hair a bit of the gold that was missing.

Atem watched him for a while, feeling his heart swell at the image. At that moment, Yuugi's face looked serene and much less troubled than it had the night before. It looked a lot more like the Yuugi of eleven years ago, the Yuugi Atem had known so well.  _His_  Yuugi.

He sat up slowly, so as not to disrupt his still sleeping hikari, and rubbed his stiff neck. No matter how comfortable that couch was, sleeping on it had not been a good idea. Not that they had planned to spend the night in the living room. They had really believed they wouldn't sleep at all - they had so much catching up to do that they expected to stay up talking all night long. However, they had not taken their exhaustion into account. They'd barely managed to discuss anything more beyond the Thief wandering in Domino before they started dozing off where they'd been sitting.

Atem stood up as soundlessly as possible and walked to the window. The city, still glistening from the night's downpour, was sparkling white and gold under the light of the morning sun. Clear blue framed the last remaining clouds. Τhe sky promised of a beautiful day.

He looked back to Yuugi, wondering if he ought to wake him up but, at that moment, his hikari stirred. His eyes fluttered open and a sleepy, content smile formed on his lips.

"Gmmorning, 'tem," Yuugi mumbled as he stretched.

"Good morning, aibou," Atem smiled back.

Then his hikari's head snapped up, his eyes wide and alert. He looked around madly and horror dawned on his face. "Oh no," he whimpered, looking at the blue sky outside. He shot out of the couch and dived for his phone, shouting to no one in particular, "What time is it? What time is it?" When the screen of his phone lit up, he let out a desperate wail. "It's 9:30! I'm late! Too late! I'm... Oh,  _shit_! Wait here, Atem, I've got to make a phone call!"

He tapped and swiped at the screen before bringing the device to his ear. He had already started running down the corridor that led to his room when he said, "Good morning, Saito, this is Yuugi Mutou. Listen, I'm not gonna be able to make it today-" The rest of the conversation was cut off as Yuugi entered his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Fully awakened thanks to this sudden flurry of energy, Atem stretched his new body. His joints popped, relieving a bit of the stiffness he had earned by sleeping on the couch, and he sighed in contentment.  _Owning_  a body still felt weird, but at least he did not feel as exhausted as the previous night. He was hungry, though.

He considered making breakfast for his hikari and him, but Yuugi had told him to wait there - and frankly, he had no idea how to make breakfast, or what kind of breakfast his partner ate these days. He remembered with a little painful clench at his heart that Sugoroku was the one to prepare breakfast every morning, before Yuugi headed out to school. He remembered waking up to the smell of steamed rice and the sound of the old man's joyous voice. Even through Yuugi's body, he had appreciated such things; small, peaceful intermissions among the craziness of his quest.

He would have really liked to make breakfast, for old times' sake, but he decided against the risk of creating chaos in the kitchen, so he just waited. Thankfully, it did not take long for his hikari to reappear, holding his phone and smiling triumphantly.

"Okay, that's settled!" he said happily. "The guys will be here in about half an hour, so we have time for a quick breakfast. How does toast sound?"

"Sounds perfect, aibou."

They were sitting around the coffee table and still munching at their toast - with Yuugi gulping down an incredible ammount of coffee - when the intercom buzzed.

"They're here!" Yuugi exclaimed and hurried to answer the door while trying to stuff the last of his toast in his mouth.

Atem stood up, too, and wiped at his hands nervously. He did not go to wait by the door with Yuugi, as he felt he needed that moment to collect himself. Anticipation and excitement fluttered in his chest, along with an uncomfortable feeling that he identified as fear. He was excited at the prospect of seeing Yuugi's friends - no,  _his friends_  - but at the same time he was afraid to. After seeing all the unsettling changes in his hikari, he was nervous about what he was about to meet once the rest of the gang walked past this door. We wiped again at his sweating palms, trying to gulp down his anxiousness.

The doorbell rang and Yuugi opened the door. All of Atem's nervousness disappeared as a familiar voice boomed in joy, probably echoing across the whole building.

"I can't believe it! It's true! You're here!"

Then the whirlwind of noise and energy that was Katsuya Jounouchi charged towards him, dropping a motorcycle helmet somewhere along the way and laughing with pure, uncontained joy. Atem barely had time to open his hands in a welcoming gesture before Jounouchi crashed in him and clasped him in a vice-like hug.

"You're here!" Jounouchi exclaimed again before lifting Atem off the ground. The pharaoh gasped in surprise and immediately started laughing as Jounouchi started rocking him like an oversized toy. "Welcome back, buddy! Welcome back!"

"Good to see you, too, Jounouchi!" Atem said in-between his chuckles.

Jounouchi put him back down and beamed at him, patting his shoulder rather forcefully in his excitement. "How are you, Pharaoh?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Atem replied, trying to discreetly get away from his reach. "How are you?"

As he eyed Jounouchi from head to foot, he realized he didn't really need an answer. Jounouchi hadn't changed much since the last time he had seen him, but there were a few small - yet obvious - changes. Back then, his eyes used to burn with the passion of proving his worth, along with some deeply-buried pain that fueled his determination. Now the brown irises sparkled with fulfillment and happiness. His blond hair was as thick as ever, tufts falling over his forehead with a charming carelessness instead of being forced into a wannabe-cool haircut. He did not look as tired as Yuugi; not even close. His posture radiated confidence as he buried his fists in the pockets of his leather jacket and smiled widely at Atem.

"I'm fine! Things are really good lately - no, things are great!"

"I can see that," Atem chuckled. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, buddy! So, tell me, how did this happen? When I read Yuugi's text I thought he had lost it!"

Yuugi laughed. "When I first saw him, I thought I had lost it, too!"

"I know, this is huge! I mean, he has his own body and everything!" Jounouchi shouted, poking Atem to stress the truth of his statement. "And he's back!  _He's back_! Whoa, this really is huge!" He ran his fingers through his hair and fell heavily on the couch, looking utterly flabbergasted by the realization. "Okay, you've got some explaining to do. Tell me everything!"

"All in good time, Jou. Let's wait for the others to arrive first."

"Oh come on, Yuug!"

"Be patient. Honda just texted me. He picked up Ryou, they'll be here soon." He held out his phone for Jounouchi to see.

Jounouchi's eyes suddenly went wide. "Wait... does that mean that Bakura's...?"

He let his question hover, but he did not really need to finish it for Atem and Yuugi to know what he meant. They both nodded gravely and Jounouchi let out a low whistle, falling back into the sofa's cushions and staring at the opposite wall.

"What about Malik?" he asked suddenly.

"He was in Tokyo for a shooting, but he took the night train. Hopefully he'll be here in a few hours, too." When Atem cast a questioning glance at his hikari, he held out his phone again. "He texted me while we were sleeping."

"Did he see his... you know?" Jounouchi asked, voicing what was also Atem's question.

Yuugi shook his head. "I don't think so, or he would have mentioned it. He did say he has something important to tell us, though."

"Man, this is too much for one morning. I need coffee," Jounouchi sighed, rubbing his eyes. He shot back up and rushed to the kitchen to fumble with mugs and the coffee pot.

"What exactly did Malik say?" Atem asked, approaching Yuugi. His excitement had once more been replaced by anxiousness and a very uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong.

Yuugi passed him his phone and Atem read the text that was listed under the name  _Malik Ishtar_.

_Ryou called me. His yami is back, too. I just boarded the train and I'm coming back to Domino as fast as I can. I'll come straight to your place once I arrive. Tell the rest to wait until I'm there, I have some very important news to share._

Atem frowned at the little screen. "That's not very enlightening. Couldn't he say more?"

"Don't worry, he'll be here soon. It's a six-hour train ride from here to Tokyo and he sent this around 3 pm, so he should be here in about half an hour. One hour, tops."

Atem huffed as he gave the phone back to his hikari. "Do you think he knows something? He was a tomb-keeper, after all."

"Patience,  _other-me,_ " Yuugi said softly.

"You guys are killing me with not saying anything!" Jounouchi groaned from the kitchen, reflecting Atem's frustration perfectly.

"You be patient too, Jou!" Yuugi shouted.

Jounouchi emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming mug and pouting at his friend. "I'm literally dying! Come on, just tell me-"

" _Do you still have your shoes on?_ " Yuugi screeched.

"Oops! Sorry!"

Jounouchi set his mug down on the coffee table and hurried to the entrance hall.

"It's not my fault!" he tried to justify himself as he took off his biker boots under Yuugi's glower. "I wouldn't be so distracted if you answered my-"

"You weren't distracted enough to forget about coffee!"

"Coffee is a primary need!"

Yuugi snorted just as the intercom buzzed.

"I'll get it!" Jounouchi yelled, flashing Yuugi a too-innocent smile as he pressed the intercom button to let the others in.

"Saved by the bell," Yuugi grumbled as he joined his best friend in the hall.

Atem remained behind, finding himself once more overwhelmed by this scary kind of anticipation - only, this time around, anxiousness about the news Malik would bring was added to the mix. He couldn't fathom anything more important than Malik's yami returning, but if that was the case, he would have mentioned it... wouldn't he? He didn't know Malik as well as Yuugi did, but he had known his yami. And he wasn't at all happy at the thought that they'd had to deal with both the Thief and Malik's psychopathic second persona.

He was so lost in these less-than-pleasant thoughts that he was caught completely off-guard when the door opened and a child's voice chimed happily, "Unca Jou!"

"Heeey! There's my favorite girl!" Jounouchi boomed and child's laughter filled the appartment.

Atem took a few steps towards the little group that was huddled in the threshold and felt his mouth drop in surprise. Jounouchi was holding a child in his arms, a little brown-haired girl no older than three years old. Behind her stood Hiroto Honda, laughing and looking at the kid with adoration. Then he spotted Atem and his own eyes went wide with surprise, too.

"Pharaoh!" Honda exclaimed. He crossed the threshold and reached Atem with a few strides of his long legs. "I can't believe it!" he said, crushing him in a hug.

"It's good to see you, Honda," Atem laughed.

Honda broke the hug and took a step back to take a better look at him. "Whoa, you look just like Yuugi!"

Atem nodded and took this chance to better look at Honda, too.

Honda's adult version was not surprising in the slightest. Contrary to the rest of the group, he was the one who had always looked older than he was, graced with a tall and strongly-built body since his teens. So, the differences Atem was seeing now were the expected ones: short hair balding on the top of his head and a few tired lines around his eyes - probably courtesy of the adorable little girl that was in Jounouchi's arms.

"Is this your daughter?" Atem asked, more than a little dumbstruck, and Honda nodded proudly.

"Yep! This is Miko, my little princess! Miko," he said, taking the kid from Jounouchi's arms, "say hello to Atem!"

Miko inspected him with her huge brown eyes but, instead of saying hello, she asked, "Are you unca Yuugi's brother?"

Yuugi, who was standing next to Atem, laughed and said, "No, Miko. He's a friend of mine!"

The child did not look convinced, so she kept looking at Atem with suspicion.

"Would you mind if we took this inside?" an irritated voice cut across them and everybody's attention turned to the other figure on the threshold.

Ryou Bakura was still easily recognizable thanks to his white hair, but the first thought that crossed Atem's mind when he laid his eyes on him was that he looked terrible. In the years that had passed, his body had grown taller and the angles of his face more defined, but he was unnaturally thin, his cheeks too hollow. His hair fell haphazardly over his shoulders as he stood hunched, with his hands in the pockets of an oversized jacket. His eyes looked puffy and tired, as if he had not slept at all, and his complexion had an unhealthy hue. The look on his face bordered between anger and defeat.

He noticed Atem looking at him and nodded curtly, without even attempting to crack a smile. "Hey, pharaoh."

"Hello, Bakura," Atem said, deciding against approaching him for a more intimate greeting since the look in his eyes was less than welcoming.

Yuugi walked past Atem, diving into the already crowded hall to close the door. Atem took a few steps away, to give them more space to move freely and take off their shoes, but he made sure to keep an eye on his partner and on what was being said. Yuugi approached Ryou and put his hands on his shoulders, examining his face with a frown.

"How are you?" he asked Ryou, using the same tender and concerned tone he had used last night on the phone.

Ryou took his hands out of his pockets and he tried to undo the lacing of his sneakers with fingers that shook violently. "I need some coffee," was all he said as a response.

"Ryou, man, I don't think coffee will be ideal for your nerves right now," Jounouchi said, pointing at his friend's trembling hands.

Ryou just shook his head and opened his mouth to retort, but Yuugi cut across him. "Did you get any sleep?"

"No," Ryou said, looking at Yuugi as if he couldn't believe he even considered such a thing. When Yuugi shook his head disapprovingly, Ryou said, "I had to be alert, in case  _he_  tried anything funny." He spat out the pronoun with such hatred, it was not hard for Atem - or anyone else - to figure out to whom he was referring.

"Unc'e Ryou is sad," Miko informed them in a low voice.

"I'm not sad!" Ryou hissed with a lot more aggressiveness than he had to, causing Miko to cower against her father.

"Hey, don't take it out on her," Honda reprimanded him with an authoritative tone Atem could never imagine hearing in the man's voice.

Ryou huffed and a bit of the hardness in his face melted away. "I'm sorry, Miko. I'm just angry."

"Not angry at you, sweetie," Honda specified, stroking Miko's hair just as he shot Ryou a stern glance.

"No. I'm angry at... a bad guy," Ryou said, hunching back over his shoes.

"Dad can beat up all the bad guys!" Miko said cheerfully.

Jounouchi narrowed his eyes at Honda and a crooked, teasing grin appeared on his lips. "Are you still teaching her such lies?"

"You're jealous 'cause it's true," Honda said smugly, turning his back on him and strutting off towards the living room with Miko in his arms.

A soft beeping noise made Atem's attention turn back to Ryou, who took his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. "Malik just arrived at the train station and is looking for a cab. He'll be here soon."

"Good," Yuugi said, gesturing to them to follow him to the living room.

A few minutes later they were all sitting around the coffee table, each with a mug of steaming coffee and a big plate of biscuits in the center. Atem was sitting cross-legged on the carpet next to Yuugi, looking at the group of his friends without being able to suppress a fond smile. They had been through so much together, shared so many good and bad times. He'd never imagined he'd see them this grown up. Even so, he was glad that he was given the opportunity to sit among all of them again, even if he had no idea how he had ended up there.

Of course, Anzu was missing from the picture and the gang did seem a bit incomplete without her, but no one else was questioning her absence so Atem did not either. He did not want to get a rise out of Yuugi again - not when they had obviously more pressing matters to discuss.

Honda, who was sitting on the carpet with his back on the couch and Miko on his lap, was the first to breach the subject of Atem's return. "So, pharaoh, what happened? How come you're here?"

"Wouldn't it be better if we waited for Mal-"

"Oh come on Yuugi!" Jounouchi whined for the umpteenth time that day. "Don't keep us in the dark anymore!"

"Aibou, we don't have much to explain, anyway," Atem said. Yuugi sighed and shrugged, so Atem took this as the cue to keep talking. "I have no idea how I came back, actually."

"You're kidding, right?"

It was Ryou who had spoken, sitting up straight and looking at Atem coldly.

"No," Atem said, frowning at the implication that he was lying. Then another thought crossed his mind. "You met the Thief, right?"

Ryou sank back into the cushions, brows looming low over his eyes. "Yes."

"Did he know anything?"

Now all eyes were on Ryou, who huffed in irritation and said, "When I asked him why he's back, he said he doesn't know. But he's obviously lying, isn't he?"

"I'm not so sure he's lying," Yuugi said slowly. "Atem has no explanation for it, either." He turned to the pharaoh for confirmation.

Atem nodded and said, "That's true. The last thing I remember was the gate opening to admit me in the afterlife. And then I woke up on a street in Domino, close to Yuugi's house."

"Just like that?" Honda asked, playing absently with a tuft of Miko's hair.

"Yes. I just came to under the rain, with no clue as to how and why."

"Alright," Ryou pressed on, looking at Atem, "you might not know why, but that doesn't mean  _he_  doesn't. He's done it before".

"Wait," Yuugi said, lifting his hands up in an appeasing gesture. "Let's take it slow. You met the spirit of the Ring under your house, right?" Ryou nodded. "How was he?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did he look?"

"Umm... Just like me, I guess. Except for... You know... The eyes and the look on his..." Ryou's hands started shaking against his mug and his face scrunched up in a struggle to suppress some emotion.

"Okay," Yuugi said encouragingly. "And Atem came back looking just like me."

"Minus the hair," Jounouchi pointed out.

"Well, he has  _my_  hair. Or rather, what my hair would look like if I didn't... dye it and stuff," Yuugi said in a low voice as Jounouchi snorted.

"Why do you-?" Atem started, but Yuugi shook his head.

"Not now, Atem."

"It's 'cause he's a businessman now," Jounouchi chuckled.

"Well... yeah. Anyway, the Thief comes back looking like Bakura and Atem comes back looking like me, instead of how he looked when we were in his memories," Yuugi summed up.

"Just like the old days," Jounouchi said; Ryou visibly shuddered.

"Yes, except that they have their own bodies now," Yuugi added.

"Did the Thief have the Millennium Ring when you saw him?" Atem asked Ryou, whose expression turned even more sour with every mention of his yami.

"No. He was completely naked. There was nothing on him."

Honda looked about to make some sort of joke, but Yuugi shot him such a stern look that made even Atem cower.

"Then how can he have caused this? He should have the Ring, shouldn't he?"

"I don't know!" Ryou shouted. "I'm sure he found a way-"

"When you asked him, what did he say?"

"He said he didn't know a thing," Ryou replied with a clipped voice. "He acted all shocked and shaken. I would have fallen for it, if I didn't know what a hypocrite he is."

The rest glanced at each other awkwardly, until Yuugi decided to voice what they were thinking. "Maybe... maybe he  _was_  shocked."

"Don't be so naive, Yuugi!" Ryou hissed in a way that made the hair on the back of Atem's neck stand. It had reminded him of another voice; the voice of the one Ryou despised and yet resembled so much. The more Atem looked at him, the more uncomfortable he felt. It was hard to accept that this cold, harsh sound had come out of the once gentle Ryou Bakura. If Atem didn't know better, he might have thought it was Ryou's darker counterpart sitting on that sofa.

"And we can't just  _assume_  that your yami is the one responsible for this," Yuugi stood his ground firmly.

"Wait," Jounouchi piped up, "where is he now?"

"I don't know and I don't care," Ryou growled through gritted teeth.

"You don't look like you don't care, mate," Jounouchi said quietly.

Ryou's reaction was instantaneous. He set his mug down such force that coffee flew all around, splashing on table and the carpet; Miko let out a drawn-out whimper and hid in Honda's protective hug.

"How do you want me to look?" Ryou said in a high-pitched voice. "He reappears after eleven years and acts like no time has passed, like... like I  _owe him_  to take him in, like I'm his good old loyal host waiting for a parasite. He walks in," his voice grew so shrill it sounded like he was on the verge of hysterics, "and orders me around and calls me  _yadonushi_ , like... like..." He let out an incomprehensible sound and let his head fall in his hands.

A tentative silence fell among the rest of the group. Ryou's tangled white tufts obscured his face, but everybody could hear his harsh, short breaths. They looked at each other uncomfortably, without really knowing what to do - except for Honda, who was trying to soothe his scared daughter. After a few awkward seconds, Jounouchi scooped up closer to Ryou and wrapped an arm around his shaking shoulders.

"I'm okay," Ryou said, raising his head and sniffling. Indeed, his whole face was red but his eyes were dry. "I'm just so fuc-"

"Language!" Honda snapped, gesturing with his head towards Miko.

"-king pissed," Ryou concluded, not showing any indication that he had heard him.

"Hey, Miko!" Yuugi said suddenly with put-on brightness. "Do you want to play with uncle Yuugi's cards? How does that sound?"

The child, who had been hiding in the lapels of Honda's jacket, turned around and cheered up when she saw Yuugi's warm smile. "Yes!" she chirped, nodding with enthusiasm. When Yuugi extended his hand, she jumped up and followed him to his room.

Once the pair left, Ryou turned to Honda, keeping his eyes downcast and not actually looking at him. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's okay," Honda said with an empathetic grimace and stretched his now free legs. "But... Tell us what happened, man."

Ryou huffed and said in a much softer tone than before, "He appeared under my house. I didn't recognize him, so I tried to help him, but then... I saw who he was and I... I ran." He seemed quite embarrassed to admit that; he was fidgeting and still didn't look any of them in the eye. "Then he knocked on my door and demanded that I let him in, and I got pissed and asked him why he's here and how he managed to come back. All he said was that he didn't know, so I told him to stay away from me and left."

"You just left him outside?" Jounouchi asked, and on his face was etched the same disbelief Atem had expressed the night before.

In the meantime, Yuugi had come back and was standing in the edge of the living room with his back on the kitchen counter, listening to the conversation from afar.

"Should I have offered to provide lodging and entertainment to him, like a good host?" Ryou snapped.

"That's not what I'm saying..."

Atem wanted to point out that it might have done no harm to have kept an eye on the Thief, but he caught his partner's glance and remained silent. Yuugi's words from the previous night passed silently between them.  _They are not us, Atem._

"Anyway," Ryou went on, "after that, and since he apparently has trouble taking  _no_  for an answer, he kept ringing at my doorbell and shouting - and ringing all of the doorbells in the building, for that matter. And then I called the police."

"You called the cops on him?"

"Yup. He scurried once he heard the sirens, I saw him from the window. Thankfully, he didn't show his face again after that."

"How do you know?" Honda asked.

The smile that appeared on Ryou's lips turned his face ghastly. "I kept watch all night."

Yuugi was shaking his head. "You told me you'd try to sleep," he said as he approached the group again and wiped Ryou's spilled coffee from the table.

"I couldn't possibly sleep after that!"

"Still," Yuugi said simply as he plopped down next to Atem.

"So..." Jounouchi said, sitting up and looking at them, "we have no clue how or why the yamis came back, we have no clue where Bak- the Thief is now, and we know nothing yet about Malik's yami." Yuugi nodded and Jounouchi let out a long exhale. "Well, that's great."

"We should wait for Malik. He said he has something important to tell us. Perhaps he can help," Yuugi said and stood up again. "I'm going to check on Miko."

After Yuugi left once more, silence fell between them. Ryou was sitting with his arms folded, glowering at his knees and biting at his already chapped lips. Jounouchi was staring at nothing in particular, apparently lost in thoughts, and Honda was sipping at his coffee, looking at Atem every now and then with a look of marvel on his face despite the gloomy mood that had settled over them. After a while Jounouchi sat up and smiled at Atem.

"Hey, what's the afterlife like?"

Atem chuckled. "I'm afraid I can't answer that. I don't remember."

Jounouchi's eyes went wide. "What, you can't remember anything?"

"I remember... a sort of peaceful feeling. But nothing more."

"Oh man..." Jounouchi whined and dropped back to the pillows with his hands behind his head.

However, Atem appreciated his effort to start a more light-hearted conversation, so he turned to Honda. "So, you're a family man now."

Honda smiled widely and nodded. "Yup! And Shizuka is a great wife and an amazing mother."

"Shizuka?" Atem said, looking from Honda to Jounouchi. "Jounouchi's sister?"

Honda and Jounouchi nodded simultaneously - Honda with a dreamy look on his face. "Yes, she's amazing! She is sweet and kind and beautiful and so, so hot in bed-"

"Do I really have to hear that?" Jounouchi moaned, making an act of covering his ears.

Honda sniggered. "You should be happy that I'm so in love-"

"Yeah, be in love, be my guest, but I don't need to know about your sex life!"

"For how long have you been married?" Atem asked, trying to put out the bickering before it heated up.

"Five years, more or less. We got married right after Yuugi and Anzu."

Atem's spirits dropped a bit, but he took the opportunity to lean in closer to the table and lowered his voice. "What happened with these two, anyway?"

"Hasn't Yuugi told you?" Jounouchi asked.

"He told me that they're getting a divorce."

Jounouchi shook his head. "If he hasn't told you more, then I don't think I should. It's not my place - you get it."

Atem frowned. He hated being left out of something so important, especially since it involved his partner; still, he understood Jounouchi and appreciated his loyalty to Yuugi, so he didn't press on even though it nagged him.

The intercom buzzed for the third time that morning and made everyone jump. Ryou looked up, something like hope glittering in his eyes. He hurried to the hallway and pressed the button just as Yuugi emerged from his room and ran towards him.

"Malik's here?" Yuugi asked, his excitement barely contained.

Atem could see the back of Ryou's head but not his face as he nodded. The he proceeded to open the door and wait by it, moving his weight from one foot to another in apparent impatience. Atem barely managed to get a glimpse of Malik Ishtar appearing on the doorstep before Ryou literally collapsed on him. He clutched at Malik, whispering frantically something indistinct.

Malik hugged Ryou back and stroked his white hair, murmuring, "I know, I know."

When Yuugi slipped around them and closed the door, Malik looked at him over Ryou's shoulder and gave him a faint smile. "Hey, Yuugi."

"Welcome back, Malik," Yuugi said, patting him on the shoulder. "Come on, everyone's been waiting for you."

Malik whispered something in Ryou's ear and untangled himself from his bear hug; Ryou stepped back and, for the first time that day, Atem saw him wipe his eyes. Then all three of them joined the rest in the living room, Malik smiling widely and bidding them all a good morning before he went straight to Atem and extended his hand.

"Welcome back, pharaoh."

So far, Malik was the one who seemed less changed by the passage of time. His hair had the same sandy color and the same length as before, his skin the same tanned tone, his eyes that otherworldly hue that bordered on lilac. The only notable difference was the lack of his signature kohl lines under his eyes, as well as the numerous gold accessories. Dressed as he was in jeans, a black hoodie and a leather jacket, he seemed a lot more... normal than Atem remembered him. He still stood out thanks to his hair and his caramel skin, but he did not look so out of place anymore - not as incompatible with the rest of the world as he had been.

"It's good to see you, Malik," Atem said, taking his hand and shaking it.

Malik looked around and his eyes lit up. "There's coffee? That's great! I didn't manage to get much sleep on the train."

He threw his leather jacket on the couch and darted to the kitchen to grab a mug.

"You were in Tokyo, right?" Jounouchi called at him.

"Yes!" Malik yelled back. "We are shooting for that new Tom Cruise movie."

"You are an actor?" Atem exclaimed.

Malik chuckled as he approached the group again and shook his head. "Not exactly. I'm a stuntman," he said, sitting down to the sofa next to Ryou and taking a sip from his mug.

"A what?" Atem asked with a perpelexed frown.

"I perform all of the dangerous tricks in a movie in place of the actual actors," Malik explained. Then he puffed out his chest and smiled proudly. "Of course, bikes are my specialty!"

"What new Ton Cruise movie?" Honda butted in.

"I can't tell you much, it's top secret stuff. But I've gotta be back by tomorrow or I'll lose that job. We're shooting a scene first thing Thursday morning-"

"I've heard Tom Cruise does his own stunts, so they won't need you," Jounouchi said, waving a hand airily.

"I'm not Tom Cruise's stuntman, you idiot. I'm the co-star's - Brandon Miles'."

"Yeah right," Jounouchi sneered. "Like that'd happen!"

"I know, I'm way too hot to be his stuntman," Malik said with a nonchalant shrug. "People are gonna tell the difference!"

Ryou gave Malik a slap in the back of his head, causing him to choke on his coffee and spill some down his chin.

"Hey!" Malik moaned as the rest of the group burst out laughing.

Ryou let out a few quiet giggles and a glimpse of his old self came back to the surface, only to be stifled again when he coughed himself back into sobriety. "Come on, let's focus. You have a lot to say."

"Yeah... Okay," Malik sighed, looking quite reluctant to talk now that the time had come. He looked at his - now half empty, thanks to Ryou - mug and let out a short, humorless laugh. "Where to begin...?" he murmured, apparently talking more to himself rather than his friends.

"First things first," Atem said, before his decisiveness faltered as he realized he had no idea what was the best way to phrase his question. "Did you see your... err... yami?" he asked quite hesitantly, looking closely at Malik for any sign that his question would lead to an outburst similar to Ryou's.

Malik pierced him with steady, lilac eyes, apparently noticing his hesitance and his uncertainty. "No, I did not see  _Mariku_ ," he said calmly, stressing the last word enough to show that this was how he deemed appropriate to refer to his yami.

Atem started a bit at the use of that name, but he did not question it. However, he couldn't help but compare the two men that sat across from him. On the one hand, Ryou seemed to want to avoid talking about his yami even through the use of vague pronouns, whereas Malik... Malik used his own name to refer to his darker half and seemed determined to make clear that everybody should do so.

Atem deemed appropriate to nod, to show that he understood, and Malik seemed pleased by this gesture.

"I did not see him," Malik went on, "and, to be honest, I'm not even sure Mariku is back."

"But the Pharaoh is back and the Thief is back, so..." Honda said in the tone of one who tries to break some grave news to a reluctant listener.

"You forget, Honda," Yuugi said quietly, "that Mariku was not the same as Atem or Bakura." Ryou cast Yuugi a deathly stare when he heard his name being used for his yami, but the latter ignored it. "He was not a soul trapped in a Millennium Item. He was the personification of Malik's..."

"Hate and rage," the blond Egyptian said, nodding. "He was a mass of shitty feelings grown strong enough to become a separate entity."

"That still doesn't mean that he can't be back," Honda said.

"I think I'd have met him by now. The other two appeared relatively close to their other halves."

"Wait..." Yuugi said, climbing to his knees and looking at Malik with a frown. "If you didn't come to talk about Mariku... What was the important thing you had to tell us?"

The moment Yuugi voiced this realization, everybody sat up with new-found alertness. Five pairs of disconcerted eyes fixed on Malik.

Another humorless smile stretched Malik's lips, making him look excessively sad and tired. He cleared his throat and faced their stares with a solemn expression.

"The truth is, at first, I had no idea that your yamis were back. I would come here to talk to you anyway. Of course, now I see that what I want to tell you might be connected with the spirits' return."

Not even a breath could be heard when Malik paused and cleared his throat again.

"Ishizu called me last night. She wanted to tell me first, but I guess it's gonna be all over the news soon. They made a pretty unique discovery in one of the digs back home and... I think it concerns us more than we think."

He sighed and looked them in the eye, one by one.

"How many of you have heard about the Millennium Spellbook?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed that, I really like coffee.
> 
> And Tristan procreated! XD
> 
> So! The meeting! It's not over yet, it's gonna continue in the next chapter. This might seem a little like a 'filler' chapter, but I wanted to introduce everyone properly and give you an idea of what everyone's doing these days (...more or less, there's more on that). In the next chapter, the meeting continues and Important Things will be said. Do you smell the plot coming our way? ;)
> 
> As for the Malik/Mariku thing... I'm using this version of the names so as to be able to tell them apart. I would use 'Malik' and 'Marik' (which is quite common in the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom) but, with only one letter different, even I get confused sometimes... So I decided to use the more Japanese-sounding version of Marik's name for the yami. Seasoned readers might be familiar with this - to the new readers, sorry if this is too confusing.
> 
> (By the way, that Brandon Miles actor is entirely made up, as well as a Tom Cruise movie that was shot in Tokyo in 2011. Don't try to look them up, they don't exist)
> 
> HUGE THANK YOU's go out to everyone who has commented so far. It's great to see the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom's still spreading the love! ^_^
> 
> How about some feedback on this one, too? Give some love to our boys (they've got a long road ahead of them)!


	6. Lost & found

Atem saw everyone exchange bewildered glances. It came as no surprise when he was the only one to speak.

"I have."

Malik nodded slowly, tiredly, and said, "Why don't you explain, Pharaoh? I think your description will be more accurate than mine."

He sat back and took his coffee cup in his hands, leaving the proverbial stage to Atem.

"Umm... I don't know much, actually," Atem admitted. "I hadn't even heard about it back when I was... alive. Back in Egypt, I mean. I learned about its existence from Bakura, during his shadow RPG."

"Memory World?"

"Yes. I heard Zorc speak about it through Akhenaden's mouth."

"But we were there, too," Jounouchi pointed out. "There was no mention of a book." Yuugi and Honda nodded in confirmation; Ryou just let his gaze drop and glowered at the floor.

"It was before you arrived," Atem explained. "It was even before  _my_  memories started playing out. Bakura - I mean, Zorc... He recounted some of the events that happened during my father's reign, events I had never witnessed while alive."

"So you saw this book?"

"I heard them talk about it and I think I might have... caught a glimpse of it."

Atem cleared his throat to earn himself some time. He tried to dive back into his recollections of Memory World, but it wasn't an easy task. Even though it was his last big adventure before leaving for the afterlife - therefore, one of his most  _'recent'_  memories - he found he had a bit trouble recalling the details. He supposed that was how anyone would feel when trying to remember something that happened eleven years ago, regardless of how fast those eleven years had passed.

Time was such a tricky thing.

Everyone's attention, even Malik's, was fixed on him, so he tried his best to put shards of recollections into a coherent order.

"If we are to trust Zorc's account, then the book in question was one of powerful dark magic, passed down by the high priests since ancient times. Nobody knew exactly when the book was written, and no one had ever managed to read it. It was written in some ancient language, or in code, perhaps... I don't know for sure, but I know that its contents had remained a mystery for decades."

"Then how did they even know  _what_  it was?" Honda asked.

"There had been rumors of its great power. The Spellbook had achieved almost legendary status. You see, it was said to contain the power of the Gods themselves."

"Boy, that sounds familiar," Jounouchi chuckled, earning imperative hushes from the rest.

"We're talking about immense dark power. In fact, it was rumored that the book was written by Zorc himself," Atem said somberly. "Wars were waged for it. Everybody wanted to get their hands on it, so there came a time when our kingdom was crumbling under numerous threats. My father, the Pharaoh, had been on the verge of despair, and that was when High Priest Akhenaden finally had a breakthrough."

"He read the Spellbook?" Yuugi asked.

Atem nodded. "In its pages he found the instructions to create the most powerful objects that ever existed." He made a pause to look them all in the eye, waiting for them to understand. "You know of what I speak. You have all seen those objects."

Realization hit them all simultaneously.

"The Millennium Items!"

Jounouchi and Yuugi shouted the answer, while Honda just gaped.

Ryou lifted his head and frowned at Atem, something odd flickering in his eyes. "So the instructions for the Items were written in a book?" he asked in a cold voice. "Like some kind of twisted recipe?  _'Take ninety-nine humans and boil them in pure gold, in low heat, for seven days-'_ "

"Oh come on, Ryou," Jounouchi moaned; his horrified expression mirrored that of the rest. Ryou stopped talking but kept looking at Atem with a distant anger in his eyes.

They all knew about Kul Elna. They knew about the massacre and the ritual. Atem himself had told them, after Memory World. In the month that intervened between it and the Ceremonial Duel, he had tried to recount everything as faithfully as he could. Giving them a few answers had been the least he could do to thank them after all the years they spent helping him and fighting beside him.

He remembered that day. He had talked for hours, starting from the massacre of Kul Elna and the creation of the Millennium Items-

"But you never mentioned a book," Yuugi said, apparently having followed the same train of thought. "Back when you explained everything to us, you did not mention the Spellbook."

"At the time, it had seemed a minor detail," Atem tried to justify himself. "With everything that followed, I forgot about it myself."

"Oh, of course.  _'Hey, we had a freaky recipe book written by Zorc, but I'm sure that's not important,'_ " Ryou sneered.

It was Atem's turn to glare at him. "I did not withhold information on purpose. I had so much to explain, that this particular detail slipped-"

"It doesn't matter," Malik intervened calmly. "It doesn't change much, anyway. What is important is that, apparently, they found the Spellbook."

Atem almost jumped in alarm. He sat up so quickly that his knee hit the coffee table; the cups rattled and coffee flew all around.

"They found it?" he gasped, ignoring the pain in his knee. Malik just nodded.

"Is that so bad?" Jounouchi asked, looking from Atem's anguished face to Malik's solemn one.

"It is a collection of powerful dark magic," Atem said. "Magic that we know for a fact that it works. If that book falls in the wrong hands..." He trailed off and turned to Malik again. His heart was thrumming against his rib cage. "Are you  _sure_  it's the Spellbook?" he asked, his voice resounding loud and sharp.

Malik seemed to regret the words he was about to say even before saying them. "I am afraid so. They are not one-hundred-per-cent sure yet, but... Ishizu is positive that it's the Millennium Spellbook."

"How did they... How?" Atem stammered. "I know that, when I was the pharaoh, the book wasn't around. I figured that it was either lost or destroyed."

"They found it in an excavation site near Thebes. It was hidden deep in an underground shrine. And, apparently, someone had went to great lengths to keep it safe. The place was full of traps."

"Could it be that Akhenaden hid it there? After creating the Items?" Yuugi mused.

Atem did not reply. His mind was racing back to his time as pharaoh, to his memories of sand and gold and sunburnt days. He tried to remember Akhenaden - the Akhenaden of his youth, not the one Bakura had showed him in Memory World. He tried to remember his uncle.

He recalled an image: a lanky body clad in the white robes of the court sorcerer, a small pointy beard, piercing eyes. Too piercing. One regular and one of gold. With this image came the memory of his voice, his character, his mannerisms. His uncle had always been secretive and taciturn, but to have kept the book for himself, to have created a hiding place for the book without the knowledge of the pharaoh...?

Atem's heart sank.

Of course. They were talking about the man who created the Items without the pharaoh ever knowing what actually went into making them. The man who kept so many secrets that, when the inevitable revelations came, pharaoh Akhenamkhanen's heart could not take it. A man who had always had his own agenda, his own reasons and hidden motives. Of course he could have kept the book for himself without anyone ever knowing.

"...Other-me?" Yuugi murmured, gently shaking him. Atem returned to the present to find his partner looking at him with eyes wide in concern. A few black tufts had escaped his hairband, messing up the look of his neat ponytail.

He placed a reassuring hand on Yuugi's, but the frown did not leave his face. He shook his head. "This is not good," he said in a grave voice.

Ryou sat up straight and asked with voice quivering in anger, "Is that why  _he_ is back? Is  _he_  after the Spellbook? And you," he snapped at Atem, "are you here to stop  _him_?" He was playing the pronoun game again, but it did not take much imagination to realize he was referring to Bakura.

Atem frowned at Ryou. "I already told you, I don't know how or why I'm back," he said sharply; he might not find it so easy to be harsh towards him if Ryou did not resemble his darker half so uncannily, both in looks and in traits.

"So, you weren't sent by the Gods to make things right once more, then?" Ryou persisted with a slight sneer in his voice.

"Ryou, lay off him. He already told us he doesn't know," Yuugi said. "And you said that Bakura told you he doesn't know a thing, either."

Ryou dismissed this with a scoff and went on. "But the two have to be connected, right? The book and their return? It can't be just a coincidence."

All pairs of eyes settled on Malik, who sighed heavily.

"It is possible that the two are connected. I mean, Ryou's right: this can't be pure coincidence. On the other hand..." He sighed again and looked at them with the face of a man who is reluctant to go on. "The book was found a month ago, more or less, and the spirits only came back yesterday."

"...A month ago?" Yuugi gasped.

"Why did it take so long for Ishizu to inform you?" Jounouchi asked almost accusingly.

Malik looked exasperated. "Well, she does not inform me of everything they unearth! It's her job, you know. They discover things all the time. She doesn't call me about every piece of jewelry or ceramic pot or-"

"But it's the  _Millennium Spellbook_!" Jounouchi stressed the name. "Every Millennium thingy concerns us in one way or another!"

"But they did not know what it was at first! It took them weeks of studying-"

"So Ishizu has the book?" Atem interjected.

If Malik looked reluctant before, now he looked as if he'd prefer to do anything but answer this question. "Unfortunately... No. She is not even allowed near it."

"Then who has it?" Atem asked, trying to keep his mounting panic out of his voice.

"It's still in Egypt. You see, they figured out what they had in their hands just a few days ago. Excitement went over the roof.  _'The discovery of the century'_  and all that," he huffed, a look of frustration crossing his face. "They assembled a team of the best linguists, restorers and historians in the world in order to study and translate it. It's a classified and top security project. No one besides the special team has access to the book, and Ishizu is not in it."

"How can this be?" Honda exclaimed. "Ishizu is like the Egyptian government itself! There's nothing she can't have access to!"

"She is not the Egyptian government, though. She might have been able to...  _exploit_  her position while having the Millennium Necklace, but without it, she has as much power as the next government employee."

"She's the  _head_  of the Council of Antiquities!"

"She is the head of the Department for Public Relations," Malik corrected him, "and they don't really need her help right now."

"Isn't she, like, a master in hieroglyphs and hieratic? She grew up reading ancient texts," Ryou said in a cool voice.

"She is, but there are much better linguists than her, and they have hired them instead."

Honda shook his head. "This is absurd!"

"Yeah!" Jounouchi butted in, "Ishizu knows things the others can't even dream of!"

"But she can't reveal these things, can she?" Malik said tiredly. "The same way I can't. The same way none of us can."

Silence followed this statement, broken only by the sounds little Miko was making as she played in a nearby room. Outside, the birds' chirping was disrupted by the sound of cars and honks. The sun was high, filling the living room with ample light, but that wasn't nearly enough to brighten the look on their faces.

"Still, the book is safe, right?" Yuugi said after a while, looking at Malik with imploring eyes. "It's in the hands of the Council of Antiquities, and they are just studying it. If no one else has access to it, then this is as safe as it gets, right?"

"Even deciphering it could prove to be very dangerous," Atem said before Malik had a chance to reply.

"Yes, but it's safe there, isn't it?" Yuugi pressed on.

"Perhaps," Malik said. He lowered his gaze, seeming to be lost in thought. His lilac eyes were unfocused as he stared at the mug in his hands.

"...Perhaps?" Jounouchi repeated.

"Look," Malik said, blinking his eyes back into focus and lifting his head. "The truth is, they have never before denied Ishizu involvement with the artifacts they discover. They know she has vast knowledge and she's always been a huge help to them. So... She is really, really worried right now. She is afraid that there might be more behind the whole thing. It could be that it's just Ishizu freaking out over nothing, but..."

"If Ishizu thinks their attitude is suspicious, then it might very well be," Atem said.

"But Malik said that she's in charge of public relations, not a researcher," Honda pointed out.

"Guys, let's say there  _is_  more behind this whole affair," Jounouchi said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "...what's the big deal about someone else having the Spellbook? I mean, the Items have been in the hands of the Council for years and there's been no problem."

"The Spellbook contains numerous spells of the darkest magic - not just instructions about how to make the Millennium Items," Atem said. "And we don't even know how powerful the rest of its spells are."

"If Zorc wrote it, then... Pretty powerful, I guess," Malik said with a humorless smirk.

"Still, you are fussing over some kind of worst possible scenario," Jounouchi remarked with a look that made him seem like a teacher scolding his students. "It could be that nothing is suspicious and that nothing will happen."

"Can we take such a risk?" Yuugi asked.

Malik shook his head. "I don't think we can, that's why Ishizu is so worried. But, on a brighter note: she is trying to find a way in the team. She assured me she'll try anything and everyone she knows. She is determined to make it and, once she is in, she will be able to keep an eye both on the book and on the people around it."

"Really? You think she can make it?" Yuugi asked, his morale somewhat increased.

"She will try her best, which is good enough for me," Malik replied. A small smile curved his lips. "I know sis can be pretty persevering when she wants to."

Atem allowed himself to breathe. "Alright then," he said. "Is there anything we can do to help her? Anything."

"I don't think so. It will take connections and a lot of paperwork, so... Just leave it up to her."

"Oh man," Honda whined. "You come here and drop that bomb and then you say  _'chill, don't worry, Ishizu got this'_?!"

Malik chuckled and shrugged. "Well, would you prefer it if I'd said nothing?"

"No," Yuugi said hastily. "No, it was right of you to inform us. Plus, this might help us understand why Atem is..." He trailed off and looked at Atem.

Of course. An explanation about his reappearance.

Atem was curious, too, but at the same time he was satisfied with not having a reason. Preferred it, even. He would very much like to spend a few more mornings waking up without some kind of fate or mission hanging heavy over his head. The feeling was disturbingly familiar. It dragged Atem months - no, years, it had been  _years_  - ago; back to seaside strolls in Domino, and sleepless nights, and hours and hours of gazing at the Tablet of Memories...

"Meanwhile, I think we should make sure that Ryou remains safe," Malik said.

That remark was enough for Ryou to bolt upright and glower at his friend.

"Safe from  _what_?" he hissed.

"You know who I'm talking about, Ryou," Malik retained his composure with commendable patience. "Bakura is a potential threat to you, especially since we don't know why he is back."

"I don't need protection! I can handle him!" Ryou said in a tone that suggested he'd bite the tongue off anyone who'd claim otherwise.

"Malik's right," Jounouchi piped up, earning one of Ryou's murderous glowers. "I don't think it's safe for you to stay alone. At least, not until we know what Bakura's up to."

"I don't need a baby-sitter!" Ryou yelled. "And if he comes near me again, I swear I'll crack his skull open, so there's no need to-!"

"See, we can't have you going to jail over an asshole like Bakura," Jounouchi said with a small grin. "I think you qualify for a bodyguard, or at least some company. What do you say, guys?"

"What about Malik, then?" Ryou said in an effort to turn the attention of the group away from him.

"What about me?" Malik frowned.

Ryou eyed Malik with a rather stern expression. "What about  _your_ yami? We still don't know whether he's around or not. If I need a bodyguard, then so do you!"

Malik shrugged.

"I'll keep an eye out for him, but I think he'd have shown himself by now. You met your yamis within five minutes from their return, tops. And I can't see Mariku intentionally refraining from meeting me...  _If_  he really is back."

"I don't care," Ryou said stubbornly. "We should make sure. If he's back, then you're in more danger than I am."

Malik's shoulders slouched. "Really, I... I don't think he's back."

For the first time something in his calm facade cracked, revealing the anguish underneath. He must have realized it, for he squared his shoulders again and flashed them an undeniably dazzling smile. He pushed his hair out of his face with the charm and the nonchalance of a rock star.

"Anyway, I have to be back to Tokyo by tomorrow, and it's not like any of you can follow me there. Don't worry. I promise to keep an eye out and inform you the minute I notice something suspicious."

Ryou scoffed and tried to argue further, but Malik interrupted him with a huge yawn and a stretch of his body. He pointedly ignored Ryou's objections by discussing sleeping arrangements for the night and train schedules. It wasn't until Honda asked whether they wanted him to drop them off somewhere that Jounouchi cut them off in a low voice.

"Guys, wait... What about Anzu?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Atem saw Yuugi's posture stiffen.

"I know you won't like it, Yuug," Jounouchi went on, "but... Shouldn't she at least know what's going on?"

It was impossible to miss the change in the mood and the uncomfortable tension that filled the room. Malik suddenly decided to focus on his coffee cup and lowered his gaze; Ryou withdrew into himself and scowled at his knees, while Honda cast furtive glances from Yuugi to Jounouchi and, for some reason, Atem.

Yuugi pressed his lips in a thin line and simply stared at Jounouchi.

"I don't see how any of this concerns her," he said at long last. His voice was so devoid of emotion that it was unrecognizable.

"Come on, Yuug..." Jounouchi said quietly. "She deserves to know at least the gist of the situation. I mean... She doesn't even know Atem is back."

Yuugi shuffled in his seat, his body jerking in an awkward and mechanical way. "There's no reason to involve her in this. There is nothing she can do, after all."

"That's not what I'm saying and you know it. Atem was her friend, too. You might not like it, but it's not right to-"

"I won't talk about Anzu. Not now. If you guys want to inform her, go ahead," Yuugi snapped, whipping his head around to look at the trio on the couch; Malik, Ryou and Honda all but cowered under the look Yuugi shot them. "Just... Do it without me." Animosity seeped out of his voice at this, and he lowered his head to look at his shaking fists.

Nobody else moved. Jounouchi managed to catch Atem's eye and made an apologetic face to him, but Atem did not react. He did not know how. If there was something they expected him to say and make this situation better, they were out of luck because he really had no idea how to deal with  _this_. Especially since he did not really know what he was dealing with.

Apparently, no one else knew what to do or say, until Jounouchi sighed and said in a hesitant voice, "Hey, Yuug, umm... I'm sorry for bringing it up, pal."

Yuugi shook his head. "No, no, it's okay. I'm sorry for..." He trailed off, looking rather ashamed of himself. He cleared his throat and turned to Malik, putting on as much of a cool expression as possible. "Please keep us updated on Ishizu's progress. And if there is anything we can do to help, let us know."

Malik seemed a little disconcerted from this sudden change of subject, but he just nodded and said, "I will."

The silence that followed was even more uncomfortable than the previous one. No one could come up with anything more to say, so they all focused on emptying their mugs.

Atem wondered whether it would help if he tried to initiate some small talk again, but he dismissed the idea, even if there were still many things to ask. The mood did not seem appropriate. Yuugi's shoulders were tense, even though he was managing to keep his face impassive.

Thankfully, Honda took it upon him to break the silence. "I'd better get going. Shizuka has given me a huge grocery list."

The rest grabbed this chance with gratefulness and soon they were all standing up and getting their coats. Malik helped Yuugi pick up the empty coffee mugs and take them to the kitchen while Honda went to collect Miko from whenever she was holed up.

They put on their shoes and bid them goodbye with several hugs and pats on the back for Atem.

"Man, it's good to see you again," Jounouchi said. "I'd be nice if we didn't... have to worry about dark magic again and stuff."

"Then he probably wouldn't even be here, Jou," Ryou said coldly. That killed what little of their good mood had remained, so they took off without further ado.

Once the last one of the group left and the front door closed behind them, Yuugi sighed deeply. He leaned with his back against the door and let his tense body relax. His eyes searched for Atem and locked on him.

He looked worn out to the point of crumbling. There was no spirit left in his eyes. The dark bags under them made everything worse; made his irises look lifeless. He looked at Atem, lost and despondent.

"So... The Spellbook." He shook his head and let out a humorless chuckle. "What a mess, huh?"

Atem wanted to respond, but his mind was blank once more. The conversation about Anzu was too recent, the tension still buzzing in the air. Atem stood silent and stared, and his eyes traveled across Yuugi's figure of their own accord.

His partner's image was a sum of smaller, unsettling elements. Tired eyes. Wild tufts of black hair falling in his face. A golden band glittering on his left ring finger. Tremulous corners of the mouth, unable to keep the smile they were trying to form. Traces of anger left on his cheeks. Hint of pain left in his brow.

Atem's eyes found their way to Yuugi's neck and remained there. He noticed that it stood in a quite odd angle, as if there was something heavy hanging from it. It gave the impression that he stood constantly hunched, even when his back was straight.

He hadn't picked that up before but, once he did, Atem was unable to tear his gaze away from that sight. He couldn't help but wonder whether this slouch was a defect caused by Yuugi wearing the Puzzle around his neck for years. The idea made something in him clench tightly. It made him feel responsible. Guilty.

The Puzzle was gone now, but its presence was still haunting Yuugi, probably earning him stiff back muscles and the equivalent discomfort. One more thing to add to the sum of traits that made up his ran-down image.

"Atem?"

His eyes flicked upwards to meet Yuugi's. Upon seeing these dimmed violet irises again, he could not hold back.

"Aibou," he said in deep and somber tones. He felt his own brow scrunch up in concern. "What is wrong?"

Yuugi seemed puzzled. "You mean besides what Malik just-?"

He stopped talking under the look that Atem gave him.

"You know I am not talking about the book."

Yuugi's look hardened. He lowered his head; more black tufts slipped out of his hairband and fell in front of his face, obscuring it from Atem. "You already know," he murmured.

"No, aibou, I don't! All you've given me are vague answers, and I-"

"Why do you need to know more, anyway?" Yuugi snapped, raising his head to shoot a glower at Atem.

If his answer was intended to hurt, then it achieved just that. Still, Atem stood his ground. "Because if I don't know what is going on, how will I be able to help you? Please, Yuugi, I-"

Yuugi let out a sarcastic chuckle, and the sound was so uncharacteristic of him that Atem's plea died in his throat.

"Help me...?" he whispered. His eyes narrowed into slits. "You want to help me? Alright then... Let's see. A book of dark magic is discovered, my yami comes back from the dead, I don't know how or why any of this is happening, my marriage is failing and I have to think of what to say to Anzu while the reason that my marriage is failing is standing  _right before my eyes!_ "

His voice had grown progressively louder and, by the time he uttered his last words, he was shouting.

He glared at his dumbstruck yami, panting heavily, his face flushed and glowing red. "So there you have it!" he yelled. "Think you can help with that?"

Atem stared back stupidly, trying to process what he had just heard.

 _'... standing right before his eyes'_.

He felt the blood leave his face.

_'The reason his marriage is failing.'_

Yuugi could not really mean that - he couldn't.

Atem gulped down a dry lump of nothing and tried to talk past the numbness that had set in his tongue.

"I... What...? What do you mean, aib-?"

"Can't you see?" Yuugi kept shouting, his voice cracking and peeling as its harsh tones scraped his throat. "I was never the one she loved! The one she wanted, the one she was in love with, was you! It's always been you! Never me -  _you!_ "

Atem could not breathe in. The weight that had settled in his chest prevented his lungs from expanding.

"This can't be. I... Anzu  _never_ -"

"You never had a clue, right?" Yuugi chortled. He took a deep breath to calm himself and raked a hand through his hair; the already loose hairband slipped off and his hair flew freely.

The weight in Atem's chest was threatening to crush his heart.

"You... You must have made a mistake..."

Yuugi's face contorted into an expression of anger and pain and jealousy and a dozen more emotions that Atem would have never  _ever_  wished to see on his partner's face.

"You wanna know what was the last thing Anzu told me before asking for a divorce? You wanna know her exact words? She said,  _'you are nothing like him'_. Wanna venture a guess as to whom she was referring?"

He tried to chuckle again, but the sound was small and pitiful. When he spoke again, his voice was strangled.

"She looked at me as if I were a  _piece of dirt_ , and told me that I am nothing like you before slamming a door to my face. Does that sound like a mistake to you? Like a misunderstanding?"

Atem opened his mouth to speak, but the air of the room was too thick. He was drowning in it.

Yuugi went on mercilessly, either unaware of or indifferent towards Atem's distress.

"Do you get it? She never wanted  _me_. I was a substitute. The best one that she could get, but a substitute nonetheless. Perhaps she hoped that I'd grow up to be like you. But I am not  _you_. I am not  _like_  you. And after so many years, she finally understood it, too."

He covered his face with his hands. There was a pause for a few seconds, in which the silence was broken only by his ragged and muffled breaths. Then Yuugi's hands slipped off his face and back into his hair.

His fists curled into his wild black tufts, his knuckles turned white. He laughed and it sounded so distorted, so wrong, that Atem's blood froze.

"And now you're back!" he said in a shrill voice. He was smiling, but the expression looked desperate and pained. "You're back and, god, I've missed you so much and for so long that I can't even begin to describe how I feel! But then I look at you and remember  _her_ , I remember what she said and just... I can't help feeling..."

Tears started leaking out of his eyes, leaving shimmering trails on his red cheeks. The last traces of anger were wiped from his face, leaving behind a desolate landscape of hurt and anguish.

"I know it's not your fault," he whispered. "I know you never did anything to encourage it. I know you didn't. But I can't help but look at you and feel so...  _bitter_. And I hate it. I hate it. I hate it that you're back and I feel like this. I hate it that I look at you and instead of being happy, I keep hearing her words in my head. I hate it!"

Tears kept streaking down his face.

"I'm sorry, Atem. I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I hate it, I do, and I'm so sorry-"

Atem covered the distance between them with two decisive strides and pulled Yuugi into a tight hug.

Yuugi's stream of apologies was muffled as he hid his face in Atem's shoulder, but he kept on whispering them. Atem tightened his grip on him because there was nothing more that he could do. No words could come out of the knot his throat had become. No more commands could come out of his pathetically numb brain.

He clutched at Yuugi, hoping that it would be enough to compensate for his astounding uselessness. Hoping that the steadiness of his hands would somehow make up for the lack of stability in his partner's body. Hoping that the gesture would say all that his voice could not.

His eyes stung, but he kept them dry. Because one of them had to. One of them had to remain steady for the other to lean on. And he would be the one to do it. For his partner. For Yuugi. He might have left him to struggle alone all these years, but he would let him do it no longer.

He placed one hand on the back of Yuugi's head, right on the odd crook of his neck. Right over the constant hunch caused by the Millennium Puzzle. And he understood why he had felt so guilty about this.

It wasn't just the weight of gold that had made Yuugi's shoulders bow.

It had been the weight of the soul that it carried - a weight that had never left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoah, you guys! Three months since the last update!
> 
> First off, sorry for the wait! I took a break from this fic to do some research (that is, to re-read the whole manga :P) so... Yeah, that was one of the reasons for the delay. The second reason is that I've had lots of things going on lately - things that have been nice and creative but also very time (and energy) consuming.
> 
> Your comments and your support have been amazing, though! Thank you so much for that!  
> And, as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, too. ^_^
> 
> I promise the next chapter won't take this long!  
> (and, if you see me dawdling again, feel free to remind me of my promise)


	7. Promises

Honda dropped Ryou and Malik off outside Ryou's apartment block and drove away while little Miko shouted cheerful goodbyes at the top of her shrill voice. The two friends waved at her with identical wide smiles, until Honda's car took a turn at the end of the road and disappeared from view.

As if on cue, both Malik's and Ryou's smiles faded.

"Malik?"

"Hmm?"

"...Want a drink?"

"Oh, gods,  _yes_."

They made their way to the main entrance in silence, keeping their hands in their pockets to protect them from the cold. As Ryou started fumbling with his keys, Malik lifted his gaze to take a look around. He glanced from the pavement to the streetlamps and the towering buildings. He couldn't help thinking that Bakura had been there just a night ago.

He still remembered him from the days of their... alliance. He remembered the way the man stood, the way he talked, the way he sneered and scoffed and laughed. It wasn't hard picturing him there, standing on the very spot that he was. It felt... surreal. Eerie.

He did not like thinking about Bakura. The guilt over Battle City would never go away - he had come to terms with that - but everything became worse when he thought of how he and Bakura had used Ryou. Ryou, whom they stabbed and let bleed. Ryou, whose conscience they locked away in a prison within his own mind. Ryou, who turned out to be his best friend.

Malik shuddered and took his gaze off the street.

Bakura being back was definitely not good news for any of them but, at least, this time he would made sure to be on the right side.

Ryou's apartment building was old, and its elevator was a tiny, crackling thing that spent most of its days out of service. It was operating properly at the moment - or as properly as it got - but Ryou ignored it and led the way up the stairs without a word. Malik followed him with a rush of thankfulness warming his chest. The climb to the fifth floor was long and winding and it always made Malik feel dizzy, but it was nothing compared to the unease the stuffy and half-lit elevator evoked in him. He had made the mistake or riding it once, and the panic attack that had followed had made him promise never to do it again.

When they reached the fifth floor, Ryou unlocked the door to his apartment - a door so frail and decrepit-looking that Malik wondered whether locking it actually made a difference.

The inside of the apartment was dark, since all of the shutters and curtains were decidedly shut. Ryou walked in first and kicked off his shoes. He threw the keys, aiming for the bowl on the nearby stand, and missed. He did not seem to care. He went straight for the couch, where he collapsed face-first.

Malik walked in and closed the door quietly. He proceeded to pick up the keys and put them in the bowl, to spare Ryou the search in the instance that he forgot where they had landed; judging by the state his friend was in, he probably hadn't even noticed he had missed his target in the first place. The next thing he did was open the shutters and the curtains to let the light in. Since the place was also in need of some fresh air, Malik opened the French window of the living room. Τhe cold of December filled the already chilly apartment.

Ryou did not stir at the change. He was hiding his face, so all Malik could see was tangled white hair splayed on the pillow.

The bright light of noon illuminated the mess that Ryou's apartment was. Books were piled up in the most unlikely places, papers with notes stacked on top of them. Clothes and mugs were strewn about. The place was in need of vacuuming and dusting, not to mention the dishes that had started piling up in the sink.

Malik shook his head. He knew Ryou had little to no time for house chores, but he also knew how much his friend valued cleanliness and neatness. The state of his apartment was proof of just how screwed his timetable was, what with working and trying to graduate. Or... It could be just a reflection of how Ryou was feeling lately. Either way, it did not make Malik particularly happy.

He sighed and approached the couch. He sat on the armrest, right next to Ryou's feet, and prodded him gently.

His friend shifted and turned around to look at him with eyes bleary from the lack of sleep. "Okay, let's see..." he huffed. "I've got beer in the fridge, but if you want something stronger, there's only vodka."

Malik rolled his eyes. "Of course there's only vodka."

Ryou gave him a playful kick before sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The couch creaked when he stood up. He closed the French window and walked to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "So, do you want ice, or...?"

Instead of answering, Malik just followed him.

"Go sit down," he ordered.

Ryou, who was in the middle of reaching for his last two clean glasses, smirked at him. "Did I offend your barman pride? I can fix a drink, too, you know."

"Nah, I don't trust you," Malik said and took the glasses from Ryou's hands. "Besides, you look like shit. Go sit down, I don't want you collapsing."

"Sir, yes, sir," Ryou sneered, but his heart wasn't really in the tease.

Another creak from the couch told him that Ryou had gone back to the living room and sat down. Malik reached for the topmost shelf, where he knew his friend kept the vodka, and was surprised to find that the half-empty bottle had gathered a fair share of dust.

He turned to Ryou. The kitchen and the living room shared the same space, separated only by a counter and an archway, so it was easy to spot him and fix his eyes on him. "You haven't been drinking for a while," he said, both a little surprised and a little puzzled.

Ryou shrugged. "Oh well... Y'know," he said vaguely.

Malik's eyes turned back to the bottle. He considered it for a while, weighing it in his hands, and then put it back where he had found it. If Ryou had started cutting back on his bad habits, he sure as hell wasn't going to encourage him back in them. He set the glasses down and grabbed two mugs instead. He rummaged around the cupboards until he encountered what he was looking for.

When he put a steaming cup in front of Ryou, the latter sniffed at it and raised an eyebrow. "Linden tea? Some barman you are."

"Shut up and drink it," Malik said, even though he was not able to hold back an endearing smile.

"If they find out about this at the Crow, they're gonna fire you," Ryou kept teasing him. Malik chuckled and sat down next to him, holding a steaming mug for himself.

Despite how much he'd love it to, Malik's stuntman job was not his only one. There weren't nearly enough productions to make a living out of it, and it wasn't as if being a stuntman was the best-paid job in the world. He could go for months without a part, so he came to realize pretty soon that he'd need a more stable job in order to have a respectable income. So, whenever he wasn't in a shooting, Malik worked as a barman in a rock bar in downtown Domino.

He knew that in America there'd be no shortage of jobs for a stuntman of his caliber, but he wasn't willing to move. He did not want to leave Domino. There was something about this place that was drawing him - enough so to make him leave Egypt and his family.

At first it had been the need for redemption. All he had wanted was to return to the scene of the crime and make amends, both with himself and the people he had hurt. In his mind, Domino had been the place of second chances, of hope, of absolution. Since then, things had changed quite a lot, and Domino had turned into something more.

He had built a life there. A real life. Friends. A job he enjoyed. A home - a real one, not a tomb that reeked of fear, or the headquarters of an underground criminal organization, or a temporary hideout. A real home that he sustained himself, with the honest work of his hands. These things might seem simple - petty even - to a man with ambitions and dreams but, for someone like Malik, this was all he wanted. This was what he had craved his whole life. To be able to do a simple, petty thing, such as going out and riding his motorcycle under the open sky.

A career would sure be nice, but he wasn't willing to exchange everything for it. He knew there were people like Anzu, who were willing to make sacrifices for their dreams, but Malik had no interest in fame or big money. He had finally reached a point in his life where he was content with what he had.

Nonetheless, one of his regrets was that, no matter how much he tried, he couldn't get to see the same look of content on his best friend's face.

He sat back in Ryou's couch and took a sip from his mug before he asked, "Do you have to go to work today?"

Ryou sighed. "Yup. Afternoon shift. Gotta be there in a few hours."

Malik shook his head disapprovingly. "You don't look like you're up to work today. Can't you call in sick?"

Ryou shot Malik a stern look. "Ιn the middle of the holiday season? No one will be able to cover for me. We are all working overtime as it is."

"Do you really care whether they find someone to cover for you or not?" Malik asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"No, but I care whether I keep my job or not. And I can't afford to lose a day's wages."

"The only thing you'll earn if you go to work like this is fainting."

"Well, there's not much that I can do about it, is there?" Ryou snapped. "I'll just stick it out until evening."

"You could take a nap," Malik suggested. When Ryou just looked indignant, he raised his voice. "You look ghastly, Ryou! Come on, just two hours of sleep. I'll stay right here until you wake up."

"I told you, I don't need a baby-sitter!" Ryou shouted.

"I beg to differ," Malik said with equal levels of stubbornness. "Have you even eaten anything?"

Ryou closed his mouth and scowled at his lap. "...No," he said at length.

Malik set his mug down and stood up. He went straight to the kitchen, ignoring Ryou's commands to sit back down and leave his fridge alone.

There was not much in the fridge, anyway. Malik poked around for a while until he had to admit defeat. He sighed and took out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Ryou asked with a suspicious frown.

"Ordering takeout."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Malik-"

"What exactly are you trying to achieve with this, huh?" it was Malik's turn to snap. "Not eating! Not sleeping! Not accepting help! Why are you-?"

A lump settled in his throat, drowning out the rest of his sentence. The whole scene seemed disturbingly familiar all of a sudden, like a deja-vu. He had said those words before, and Ryou had stood looking at him with the same air of irritation, defiance, and despair. Just like now. Only, back then they had been much younger, barely out of their teens and with all kinds of wounds too fresh on their skin.

Malik sighed and drove a hand through his hair. He did not want them to revert to that. It had not been a good time for either of them. Hell, he was determined not to let things come to that again.

Ryou kept staring at him coldly. "I'm not trying to achieve anything. I thought you knew."

"I know, and that's the worst part," Malik said quietly. He put his phone back in his pocket and approached Ryou. He sat back down next to him and sighed. "I don't like seeing him affect you this much already. It's barely been a day and... You're falling apart."

Upon hearing that specific phrase, Ryou shot him the most deadly-looking glare he could achieve.

"I don't think you'd be able to act so calmly if you'd seen Mariku from up close," he said, biting frost covering his voice.

Malik felt his face blanch at that. It wasn't because of Ryou's tone. He knew that his friend could be pretty harsh when stressed. It was because of the words themselves; the implication that he wasn't as at peace with the idea of Mariku's return as he'd like to seem.

He guessed there was some truth behind that statement.

Time to drop his calm mask, then. As if it'd ever fool Ryou.

"No, I guess I wouldn't be," he admitted in a low voice. "But I wouldn't give up and let it destroy me, either."

"I haven't given-!"

"Oh, yeah? And what do you call  _this_?"

"A sensible reaction!" Ryou screeched. "At least I'm not walking around pretending that this is the most natural thing in the whole fucking world!"

"Should I freak out, too, then? Would that satisfy you?" Malik asked coldly.

Ryou opened his mouth but apparently could come up with no suitable retort. He struggled for a while and then resigned to a huff. He fixed his eyes on the untouched mug in front of him, observing the rivulets of steam that rose from it.

"How can you stand it?" he whispered after a minute of silence.

"Stand what?"

"Not knowing." He turned back to Malik with anguish etched on his pale features. "Not knowing whether he's back... Whether he's close... Watching you. Aren't you... afraid?"

Malik considered his question for a moment. He let his body sink into the pillows of the couch, fatigue pulling him under. He looked straight ahead, away from Ryou's worried frown, looking for the answer to his question. Replaying every minute of the past twelve hours in his head.

"I don't know if fear is what I'm feeling," he said slowly. "I mean... Sure, there are moments of paranoia when I look over my shoulder, expecting to see him behind me, but... Fear? I don't know."

He kept looking ahead, but he could tell Ryou's eyes were fixed on him, huge and concerned. He sighed.

"You know, I... I always thought that, if Mariku ever came back, it'd be because of me. Because of something I'd done. So I tried  _so_  hard not to screw up again."

His palms curled into fists. The feeling that made them shake was definitely not fear. When he went on, he tried to not let his voice quiver too much.

"So now... To think that, after all the hard work I've put into becoming a decent person, he could still come back, is... Infuriating, really."

Ryou remained silent at this. Malik sipped at his beverage, just to occupy himself with something and wash away a bit of the resentment he felt. Resentment was not a good emotion. Neither was anger, and he hated that he felt both at the time. After all his hard work...

"But... Wouldn't it better that way? If his return is not... your fault?" Ryou asked in a quiet and careful voice.

Malik let out a strangled laugh, even though Ryou's words had not been the least funny.

"It's just as bad. Or even worse, because it means that he would no longer need me to... create him. It means that I would have no control whatsoever over him. And not having control sure brings back some memories, doesn't it?" he concluded bitterly.

Ryou's look softened. For the first time that day, there was no scowl in his face, just a concerned frown and, behind it, sadness.

Malik tried to smile. "Still," he said, his confidence returning, "there's been no proof of his return, so I try not to dwell on this stuff. It's no use."

The frown returned to Ryou's face, but it was mostly a look of exasperation, not irritation. "How can you choose not to think about it?"

Malik shrugged. "I can't afford to freak out over something that might never happen. The world doesn't end, you know. There are things I've got to do: a scene I've got to shoot tomorrow, a book we have to find, a friend I have to protect," he gave Ryou a small smile. "If I let the mere idea of Mariku hold me back, then... I'll have lost to this negativity once again. I'll have lost to him, whether he's back or not."

Ryou stared at him with an odd expression on his face. Slowly, all fight seeped out of him and left him looking drained.

"Damn it, Ishtar... I could learn a thing or two from you."

"Took you ten years, but you finally acknowledged it," Malik sniggered.

"Shut up," Ryou murmured and let his body tilt towards him. At first Malik thought he was aiming for his shoulder, but Ryou let his body fall sideways until he lied with his head on Malik's lap.

It was a two-seat couch, which meant that Ryou couldn't fit his body properly on it when lying down, but he accommodated himself as best as he could. He sighed deeply and curled into himself, assuming an almost fetal position with his head on Malik's thighs.

Malik smiled endearingly and the top of the white-haired head on his lap. He did not mind the intimacy. They had been through so much together that they could be comfortable around each other and never question their gestures. Over the years Malik had learned that, whenever Ryou curled on his lap like this, he was in serious need of some comfort. It was obvious that Ryou needed a lot more comfort and affection than he wanted to look like, but it wasn't like him to seek it out often. He wouldn't ask for a bit of warmth until he reached some kind of breaking point.

It had been harder at first, when none of them was willing to open up. Thinking back, Malik realized that the first time they had let their true emotions show, the first time they both let go of their defenses and masks, was the day of Ryou's last confrontation with his father. So many years ago. That night had been a pivotal point in their friendship, and the start of a very,  _very_  hard time for Ryou. As if he'd had it easy before.

Malik drove his fingers through Ryou's white hair and stroked them softly. He felt his friend's body relax and grow heavier. His breathing slowed down.

He knew that Ryou was starved for this: a gentle touch, something to make him feel safe. In some aspects, he believed Ryou was worse off than him. Sure, Malik himself hadn't grown up showered with parental love, but he'd always had Ishizu and Rishid by his side. Even now, even though they lived so far away, they supported each other. They were there for him, as they'd always been.

Ryou never had this. Or, more correctly, he had it once, but he lost it so young it didn't even count. He'd grown up without a mother or a sibling and a father that was away more often than not. For a long while he hadn't even been able to keep the friends he made. And, after Bakura, he became so distrustful and distant that it had taken a truly great shock for him to drop his defenses and allow someone to approach him. In many ways, Ryou was still like that. The first few years after Bakura had crystallized his current self.

Not that Malik was one to speak. Their adventures had left them both with more scars in their souls than their bodies - and, in Malik's case, that said quite a lot.

"Malik?"

Ryou's voice broke him out of his melancholic reverie.

"Hmm?"

"What will you do if Mariku is back? If he has a body like... the rest?"

Malik pondered this for a few seconds. "I don't know. Perhaps... I'll stay away from him. If he has his own body, I guess that means he'll be his own person. A separate individual. So I'll stay away, 'cause I don't think I'll have anything to gain by associating with the likes of him."

Ryou chuckled weakly. "Is it really that simple for you?"

"If you see him like any other person, then... There's not more to it, really."

"Yes but... Will you be able to see him like that? Like just another person?"

Malik paused. "...I don't know. But I'll try."

Ryou sighed. "I wish I could just ignore Bakura." Malik was mildly surprised to hear him actually call him that, but he did not question it, and Ryou went on. "I wish I could just pretend he's just one person that I don't like, and leave it at that. But I can't get him out of my head. I hate him  _so much..._ " his body turned rigid and tense, "I feel I'm gonna burst with the intensity of it."

He rolled on his back to be able to look at Malik.

"I don't want him to exist, Malik. I don't want him here. But now that I know that he is back... It's all I can think of."

"You told him to stay away from you," Malik said calmly. "I doubt that  _you_  will go looking for him. There's a big chance he'll stay out of your life, so there might not really be a difference."

"Even knowing that he's around makes a difference. It's like..." He paused, searching for the right words, until he gave up and he huffed irritably. "I don't know. It's like the world turned upside down and I'm sixteen again."

"You're not, though. You stood up to him."

A dry smile stretched Ryou's lips. His expression was oddly vengeful. "Yeah... Yeah, I did."

"Try not to think about him," Malik said firmly, wanting to wipe that unsettling look from his friend's face. "Get some sleep. Eat. Plus, we have the Spellbook to worry about, don't we?"

"Tell you what. If there's a spell in there that reverses this rebirth thing, I'll walk all the way to Egypt to claim that book myself."

"First you'll have to take a few days off work, and I doubt they'll allow it."

Ryou groaned and rolled to his side again. "Malik Ishtar, you villain, always killing my hopes."

Malik laughed softly and resumed stroking Ryou's hair.

When too many minutes ticked away in silence, Malik glanced at Ryou's profile and realized that his friend had fallen asleep on his lap. His worn-out face had relaxed into an expression close to calmness and he breathed deeply and evenly through parted lips. Malik smiled, quite pleased with himself for managing to calm Ryou enough to sleep, especially after everything that had happened in the past hours. Now he had to make sure he stayed asleep - at least until he had to leave for work - because Ryou was stubborn enough to exhaust himself to the point of fainting.

He looked around at the messy apartment. He wasn't going to leave before Ryou woke up, that much was certain; in the instance Bakura did decide to show up, he didn't want to let him find his friend sleeping and defenseless. So, since he was going to stick around for a little while more, Malik guessed he could make himself useful.

He slipped his hands around Ryou's head and lifted it off his lap, gently enough to not disturb his sleep. Ryou's breathing didn't even hitch; for Malik, this was just more proof of how exhausted he was. He slithered away as carefully as he could and placed Ryou's head back on the cushions of the couch. He spotted a throw on the nearby armchair and used it to cover Ryou's form, then stood back with a satisfied smile.

Alright. Time to get to work.

He made his way to the kitchen and looked at the overflowing sink. He whispered a few curses as he searched for a sponge and the dish wash liquid. He hated doing the dishes more than any other of the house chores, but if he could be of any help to Ryou, he would take it. He couldn't tidy up because he had no idea where any of Ryou's stuff was supposed to go and he couldn't vacuum without waking him up, so... Dishes it was.

He sighed and attacked the pile that awaited in the sink. It took him an hour to get everything done and, by the time he finished, his back was aching and his hands were freezing. There had been no warm water, so he'd had to settle for cold all the way.

He tried to rub some warmth into his numb fingers, but he was proud to see the sink empty and shining clean. He decided to turn on the boiler, bent on getting Ryou in the shower before sending him off to work.

Perhaps he was being overprotective, but he hated seeing his friend like this. It made dread bubble in his stomach, because he knew where it could lead. He knew how easy it was to fall - as he knew that falling was infinitely easier than standing back up.

Thank the gods, Malik was determined. He would let none of them fall, and no yami would shake his resolve. Neither Ryou's, nor his.

* * *

Ryou opened his eyes to find Malik crouched before him and shaking him gently. He blinked a few times before he realized he was lying on his couch, securely wrapped in a throw. Judging by the patch of sky that was visible through the window, it must be sometime in the afternoon. It wasn't dark yet, but every light in his apartment was on.

He brought a heavy hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. "Did I fall asleep?" he groaned.

"Excellent observation, Sherlock," Malik smirked.

Ryou scoffed at his remark and propped his body on his elbow. His eyes searched for the alarm clock he kept nearby and instead settled on a pile of folded clothes that certainly hadn't been there before. Well, the clothes had been there, only they had been strewn about haphazardly instead of neatly folded.

"Did you tidy up in here?" he asked incredulously, looking around.

"I did my best," Malik said with a shrug. He pointed at the pile of clothes. "I folded whatever wasn't too smelly. The rest is in the laundry basket. You've got plenty of time before you'll have to leave for work, so you'd better take a shower. There's warm water."

"Wow," Ryou mumbled as he sat up. "For how long have I been asleep?"

"Couple of hours. Look, I gotta run if I want to catch my train, so..." He rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably. "I didn't want to leave without waking you up. Didn't want to leave the door unlocked... you know."

Ryou examined Malik's face. He looked worried, almost anxious, and clearly reluctant to go. He was glancing up at Ryou uncertainly, biting his lip.

"I'll be fine, Malik," Ryou said in his most soothing tone. When his friend did not seem convinced, he added, "Really. You don't have to worry so much."

Malik gave a sharp laugh. "Well, let me be the judge of that."

"Worrying will make you age faster," Ryou said with a smirk. "It will destroy your skin."

"It'll still look better than yours, sweetheart," Malik shot back.

Ryou laughed tiredly and rubbed his eyes again. "Can't argue with that, Ishtar. I feel like shit." He felt marginally better than before but, if he wanted to be honest, he really needed to rest. His body was screaming at him for sleep and food, even though he'd just woken up from his nap.

"Two hours of sleep are hardly enough," Malik said, as if reading his thoughts. "Try to get more sleep tonight, okay?"

"Okay, mother hen."

Ryou earned a soft slap at the back of his head for that tease and giggled again. Malik got to his feet and stretched; under the glow of the lightbulb, his sandy hair looked golden.

"I really gotta get going," he said, checking at the time on his phone. "But, first..." He lifted his gaze and his eyes pierced Ryou's. "Promise me that you'll be careful."

Ryou scoffed again. "Careful, how? It's not like I can do anyth-"

" _Promise me,_ " Malik repeated harshly.

Ryou closed his mouth, unnerved by the sudden change in Malik's demeanor. His friend's look had darkened. His gaze held Ryou's while his coral lips were pressed into a tight, pale line.

And Ryou understood why. While looking at the emotions that swirled into those lavender irises, he understood exactly what Malik meant.

He had been about to tell him that he could hardly control what Bakura decided to do, and that being careful was not entirely in his power, but he kept silent. Because Malik was not talking about this kind of caution.

Malik was talking about Ryou himself. About the lack of sleep and the dark bags under his eyes. About his too thin frame. About the dusty bottle of vodka on the shelf. About the countless empty bottles he had found scattered in his apartment over the years. About all the times he'd had to shake Ryou awake from more unusual places than a couch. About his frail door and the bolt that he put to use much less than he should.

He wasn't afraid of what Bakura would do to Ryou... But rather, what Ryou would do to himself, given the right - or the wrong - push.

He swallowed and averted his gaze from Malik's.

"Haven't I promised that once already?" he said in a low voice.

"Please, Ryou."

He sighed deeply. "Okay. I promise."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malik nod once.

"Okay..." he heard him say. "Okay," he repeated with more confidence. "I gotta run. Call me if you need me, alright? I don't mind the hour. I'll keep my phone on during shootings, too."

"Will they allow it?"

"I don't care," Malik said, putting his leather jacket on. He leaned forward to ruffle Ryou's hair. "See you on Saturday, cream puff."

"You take care, too, smart ass. And..." Ηe gestured at the room around him. "Thanks for the help. I really appreciate it."

Malik, who was already at the door, flashed him a wide smile. "Don't mention it, I'm glad I could help. Lock after me, okay? See ya!"

And, like that, he was gone.

It took five minutes for Ryou to finally find the willpower to stand up. He locked the door - he'd promised, after all - and headed for the bathroom. As he walked past the kitchen, he noticed that the familiar clutter in the sink was gone.

He shook his head with a fond smile on his lips.

"Whoa, Malik."

Once in the bathroom, he turned on the hot water, hoping the steam would warm up the cold room before he'd have to take his clothes off. The sound of water hitting the bottom of the bathtub filled the small place.

He leaned against the sink as he waited and looked in the mirror. Deep brown eyes looked back at him - tired, dim, and a little uncertain. As he looked, the gaze turned angry.

He wasn't particularly fond of looking himself in the mirror. At some point in his life, mirrors had grown to be the stuff of nightmares for him. He had watched himself look in one, only to realize that his reflection wasn't really his. He'd seen how his eyes looked when a different conscience was ruling them. For years, he had looked in that mirror each morning, half-expecting to see that foreign look on his face again.

Not that his eyes reminded him of himself as it were. Nothing on him felt like it really belonged to himself. It hadn't for a long time now. His cheeks were too hollow. His hair was too wild. His skin too tired. His eyes too dull.

Still... He'd seen that look - the look he spent eleven years convincing himself he would never see again. He'd seen it from up close and it hadn't been in a mirror.

The thought made him want to shatter the damn thing.

He looked in it now and all he thought was that the...  _other him_  was currently using the same body. There were two of them walking in the streets of Domino. There was no doubt about that - Ryou had seen him from close enough to recognize his body.

In a way, Ryou was the host once more.

The urge to smash the mirror grew stronger.

And yet, they did not look exactly the same. Ryou had noticed that, too. He would never mistake his yami for his reflection. How could he? His face looked so different when  _he_ was wearing it.

And it wasn't just the face - it was everything. They weren't standing in the same way. They did not react in the same way. Their voices, despite the likeness of their vocal chords, were as different as night and day.

They weren't the same. Even after all this time, they were still Ryou Bakura and Yami Bakura. They were opposites. Light and dark.

He wondered how anyone was ever able to mistake the spirit of the Ring for him. He wondered whether his 'friends' would be able to tell them apart now that they dwelled in separate bodies.

A harsh, mirthless laugh echoed in the small room.

He shook his head at his reflection.

"You are pathetic," he told to himself.

He took off his clothes and got in the tub.

* * *

Ryou was working at a clothes' store in central Domino. It was a popular one and it stood right in the middle of one of Domino's busiest market streets, which meant there was always an abundance of customers to serve and no chance to catch your breath.

It had taken quite a while for Ryou to land a job there. He'd spent years going from shitty, underpaid job to shitty, underpaid job. He considered this one pretty shitty, too, but at least the money was decent. That was the only reason he gritted his teeth every day and walked through that door. He knew it was the best a person like him could hope for - that is, a person that barely finished high-school and still hadn't graduated from college.

So, he went there every day and smiled, folded clothes and put up with customers for what felt like an eternity - or more - and tried not to whine too much to Malik when he asked him about it.

He knew this wasn't a bad job. Most of the other employees were happy about it, or at least grateful. However, the only thing Ryou was grateful for was his ability to appear polite whenever he needed to, even if inwardly he kept cursing every item of clothing he folded and every insane customer and every impossibly slow tick of the clock.

Still, nothing compared to how much he hated walking in there in that particular afternoon. Sleeplessness was taking its toll on him, the shower had done little to invigorate him, he still did not feel like eating and his nerves were frayed from constantly glancing over his shoulder all the way there. To make everything worse, it was the holiday season, which meant double the work, double the fatigue, and double the insanity.

He knew he wasn't exactly employee-of-the-month material, as he knew they'd hired him mostly for his looks rather than his sparkly personality. In a place like this, they valued an appealing exterior and a wide, polite smile - and, fortunately for him, Ryou had always been both polite and quite popular for his appearance. He'd always had girls fawning over him in high school, even though they always went back to keeping their distance when they discovered how much of a geek he was. Even now, when he did not look at his best, he often caught admiring or appreciative glances. He guessed it was because of his hair, since there was nothing else remarkable about him.

However, this day his exterior was far from being remotely appealing. He knew he looked like a mess, even by his current standards. He had tried to make himself as presentable as possible, but there were some things he just couldn't hide.

Oh well. If they didn't fire him for scaring off the customers, he guessed there was no harm done.

The store was stuffed with customers; their banter, combined with the music and the phones that rang, made for an unbearable noise. Ryou hovered on the threshold, feeling already exhausted.

Despite the overwhelming crowd, it was impossible to miss the disapproving look the manager of the store shot him. Mrs Nishimura was a tall and quite attractive woman in her mid-thirties, but the amazing thing about her was her ability to turn from sickeningly-sweet-mannered to a stern boss in a matter of seconds.

"You look awful, Bakura," she told him when he approached her and greeted her with a polite bow.

Ryou shivered. He was used to being called by his last name, especially in his workplace, but in the light of recent events it just sounded... wrong.

Mrs Nishimura narrowed her eyes and scrutinized him from head to toe. "Are you sick?" Even when asking a question like this, the authoritative tone did not leave her voice.

Ryou shook his head. "I'm just tired, Mrs Nishimura," he replied in a low voice.

"I can see that," she huffed. She opened a folder and frowned at the paper inside. "Well, I had zone one assigned to you today, but I can't have you at the front of the store looking like  _this_." She shot him another disapproving look while Ryou tried his best to look apologetic instead of indifferent. She sighed and crossed out something at the paper in front of her. "I'm moving you to zone three. And smile a bit, will you?"

"Yes, Mrs Nishimura."

It was going to be a long afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back and I kept my promise! This update was a fast one! ...Kinda. XD
> 
> Anyway!
> 
> I wanted to clarify a few things about the yamis' appearance.  
> My intention was to have them look the way they did in the manga (and anime) whenever they assumed control of their hikaris' bodies. In other words, I didn't want them looking like their ancient-Egyptian selves, but rather like their modern versions. So, with that being said, their main differences from their hikaris are in body postures, facial expressions, behavior, way of talking etc.  
> I think I did not make it clear enough in the previous chapters and I apologize for it. I hope it's clear now. ^_^
> 
> (...and yeah, no matter how bad-ass the ancient Thief King looks - what with the scar and everything - I decided to go for the Yami Bakura look)
> 
> Another thing I wanted to say (concerning chapter 6) was that this won't be an Anzu-bashing fic (in case you were wondering). I think it's natural for certain characters to talk with... resentment towards her, but there are two sides in each story and, eventually, I'm going to have a chapter from her point of view, too.
> 
> Last but not least: there WILL be pairings in this fic. However... I'm not sure what is the proper way to tag them. I mean... does the term 'puzzleshipping' only apply when Atem is in the Puzzle and not in a separate body? To have 'tendershipping', does Bakura have to be merged with Zorc, and thus be considered as Yami Bakura instead of Thief King Bakura? This is all so confusing! D:  
> Veterans of the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom, share your wisdom!
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who has commented so far! As always, I'd love to know what you think!
> 
> So, how about a review? :3


	8. A new kind of shadow game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Semi-graphic depictions of violence, Alcohol use, Smoking

Bakura felt the doorbell buzz under his finger as he pressed it. He waited, eyeing the pink letters above him with apprehension. There was no other sound apart from the voices issuing from the open window overhead and, after a minute, those stopped, too.

He rang the doorbell again, tapping his foot impatiently. He needed no further tests of determination - the pink neon sign above the door was daunting enough as it were.

Just as he was about to ring the bell for the third and last time, the door finally opened, revealing a massive man with small, hostile eyes. Despite it being the middle of winter, the man was wearing a plain white t-shirt, pulled tight over bulging muscles. His exposed arms were tattooed down to his knuckles; he folded them across his chest as he eyed Bakura.

"What do you want? We do not open until nine," he barked.

Even though the top of Bakura's white head barely reached the man's shoulders, the yami refused to be daunted by him. He narrowed his eyes in his usual haughty way and said, "I am here to talk to Mr Ishido."

The man lifted an eyebrow and scanned Bakura from head to toes.

"Is he expecting you?"

Bakura hesitated. He considered lying for the sake of getting inside without further ado, but that could lead to more problems than it solved. Lying his way in was probably not the wisest move.

"No," he replied at length.

"Then get lost, pal," the man said and made to get back inside.

Bakura's hand shot out to hold the door open.

The man's look darkened. "I think I did not make myself clear, pal. You have ten seconds to get your ass to the end of this street, turn right and disappear from my sight."

Bakura's nose scrunched up in contempt at the man's attempt to intimidate him.

"I am here to see Mr Ishido," he repeated firmly.

"Nine..." the man started counting down.

"Look,  _pal_ ," Bakura's lips pulled back into a snarl. "I am here to talk business with this Ishido guy and I'm not leaving until I do so. Got it?"

"What I got is that you'll lose your arm if you don't get lost. This is your last warning."

"I'm here to ask him for a job," Bakura insisted, then raked his brain for the name of the guy who had recommended this place to him. "Joji sent me."

The man frowned; the expression made his eyes look even smaller. He examined Bakura's face intently.

The yami kept at his unwavering, almost stubborn, look. He seemed to pass the test, for the man huffed and growled, "Wait here." The door closed and Bakura was once more left to wait at the threshold.

The buildings around him were too tall to allow the sun rays to reach the bottom of the narrow alley. The cold was sharp down there, so Bakura dug his hands in the pockets of the thin jacket he was wearing. He grit his teeth and wondered - not for the first time - whether he should give up on this whole Ishido affair. He could try his hand at pick-pocketing one more time. Perhaps break into an apartment or something.

The door opened again before he made up his mind. The same man appeared and motioned  at Bakura to follow him.

Well, there was no going back now.

He crossed the threshold and found himself in a long, dark hallway. Bakura's first impression was that the whole place had a decrepit feel to it. The walls were paneled with old and unpolished wood, and the plaster at the ceiling had started falling off. The man lead the way, walking across the hallway and past a flight of stairs. A worn red carpet muffled their steps.

At the end of the corridor stood a set of heavy, soundproof doors. The man pushed them open, motioned Bakura inside with a curt nod, and stood to the side to allow him to walk in first.

Bakura stepped into a spacious, high-ceilinged and dimly-lit room. The color of wood and tones of red predominated, muffled and dull in the half-light. He quickly realized he was in some sort of club. Scattered across the room was an abundance of tall, round tables; across the entrance, to the far edge of the room, stood a stage. The same cheap and stained carpet covered every inch of the floor. There were a few tall windows, but their crimson curtains were shut tight. All other lights were off. It was quite warm in there; warm enough for Bakura to take his hands off his pockets and finally stop shivering.

A bar took up the wall to his right. The place was empty but for two figures that were sitting at it, leaning against its long counter. The pair comprised of a man as muscular as the one that was escorting Bakura, and a plump woman that seemed like an explosion of colors amidst all the browns and reds of the place. Both pairs of eyes were already on Bakura, staring at him with curiosity.

The yami glanced around again, his eyes lingering on the stage despite his will.

What had that idiot Joji thought he was talking about when he asked about a job? What kind of job would he land in a place like  _this_? He guessed they did not bring him in to make him a waiter.

A clinking noise echoed in the silent hall. Bakura turned around and spotted the source of the sound: the woman was beckoning to them, causing her numerous gold bracelets to jingle.

"Come on," the man that was escorting him gave him a slight push towards the couple.

The man sitting at the bar seemed quite indifferent, but the woman's eyes gleamed as she gazed at the approaching newcomer. She was sitting cross-legged on a stool, taking long and lazy drags from a cigarette. Her face was so heavily made up that Bakura couldn't really tell her age, but he could see her foundation creasing in the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She was wrapped in many layers of flowing fabrics in extravagant colors and had topped everything with a turquoise robe that may have looked good on a more attractive woman. Her long red nails gleamed when she flicked the ash from the tip of her cigarette.

When Bakura reached her, she exhaled the puff of smoke she had been holding and gave him something that, in another world, might have been called a smile.

"Well, well... Is this for me, Enki?" she said with a fake laugh.

The man next to Bakura, apparently named Enki, shook his head.

"No, ma'am. He's here to see Mr Ishido."

The woman's face fell into a pout. "Oh, I see," she murmured. Still, she did not take her gaze off Bakura. Her eyes examined him in an almost professional way; he was under the impression that she could see past his baggy and dirty clothes and measure the body underneath. When her eyes came to rest on his face, she sighed with something that could or could not have been regret. "What a shame. What's your name, darling?"

Bakura's throat convulsed upon hearing the term of address. He refused to grace that with an answer. He would never acknowledge someone who had called him  _darling_ , even if that led to his being kicked out of that place.

Now that he thought about it, being kicked out did not seem such a bad fate.

"Ouch," the woman said, pressing a hand against her heart. "What a cold look! You break my heart, darling. And you are going to break a lot more hearts with that look of yours, I'm sure. Enki, if Ishido has no use for him, bring him back up to me, please."

"I'm not interested," Bakura said dryly.

"Oh?" the woman lifted a badly-drawn eyebrow; Bakura wondered how she managed to keep her lids from drooping under the weight of all this make-up. "A shame, indeed. I could definitely work with that face. A know a few hearts that would melt at the sight of those cheekbones."

Bakura's mouth twisted and he looked away. One more minute of this and he would walk out of there himself. His stomach might be stuck to his spine, but he was not _that_ desperate.

Thankfully, the woman dismissed them with a flick of her hand and a jingle of her bracelets.

"All right, then, move along. Let Ishido have all the good ones." She huffed and turned back to her companion.

Enki gave her a curt bow and Bakura almost scoffed at his display of respect.

He followed him around the bar to a simple door that looked like it could be leading to some sort of storage room. He was surprised when he went through it and found himself in the middle of another long corridor. Its edges were hidden in deep darkness. Only one light was on, gracing the long space with a cold, white glow; much different from the warm hues of the previous room. He managed to discern a few more doors, but he was not able to make out the end of the corridor, no matter how much he squinted.

Enki led him towards the single light, which hung over what seemed to be a wide trapdoor - the kind that led to basements or cellars. He opened it, revealing a flight of steps, feebly illuminated by small white spotlights. Bakura could not see the bottom of the staircase, but it was clear that it was burrowing deep underground.

He swallowed. Underground meant less chances for a quick and easy escape, should things turn sour.

On the other hand, this seemed a lot more promising than the sleazy bar they had just left. The secrecy and the sheer amount of doors one had to cross to reach this place definitely suggested illegal activities. What kind of illegal activities, Bakura had no idea, but it could be anything from protection to drug dealing. Or even a criminal organization with some kind of half-mad leader that wants to take over the world via playing card games.

He started climbing down the steps and Enki followed suit, pulling the trapdoor shut behind them.

At the bottom awaited yet another corridor, but this one was wide and well lit. It seemed and felt new, especially when compared with the ancient building they had just left. There were no swerves and no detours. It just led straight to a heavy double door with a guard before it; a man of an even more impressive build than Enki, and much better dressed. In the few seconds it took to reach the guarded door, Bakura took in everything around him.

There were two security cameras: one at the bottom of the staircase and one right above the guard's head. Bakura ground his teeth. If this was the only entrance, then it would indeed be impossible for anyone to enter or leave undetected. It made him feel... uncomfortable.

Just what kind of lair was he walking into?

The guard scrutinized him and contempt settled on his face. The handle of a handgun was visible under the jacket of his black suit. Bakura tried his best not to scoff and squared his shoulders proudly. Handguns and security cameras. How banal. If he had his Millennium Ring, none of these things would be a nuisance to him. Their technology was powerless before his shadow magic.

...Of course, he did not have the Ring anymore and there was not an ounce of shadow magic in his body, but he chose not to dwell on it. He would not be intimidated by simple goons with guns.

The guard nodded to Enki and held the door open for them.

Beyond stretched another spacious and subtly-lit room, where everything was in hues of grey. Every light was on, but that did not succeed in making the place bright. On the contrary, it seemed that some corners were deliberately left in the shadows.

Bakura's gaze was immediately drawn to the centre of the room. There, standing on a raised platform, stood an octagon boxing ring, caged in chain-link. The space around the ring was empty for a good thirty-feet radius: no seats, no benches, no tables. Beyond that space the scenery changed. In the left side of the room were rows of blackjack and poker tables, with their green tops striking amidst the grey-scale tones of the place. Next to them stood a couple of roulettes.

A gambling den, then; possibly more.

There was a bar, taking up half of the wall across from Bakura, partly obscured by the boxing ring. A lone barman was standing behind the counter, watching him with apathy. The right side of the room was taken up by small, round, white tables, surrounded by a few chairs each; there were twenty, or twenty-five of them. And, beyond them, on a platform higher that the rest of the room - almost at the same level with the boxing ring - stood a few more tables, each one tucked in its own separate alcove in the wall. The only people in the room, apart from the bored barman, were sitting around one of those elevated tables. Cigarette smoke hovered over their heads, taking a silvery sheen under the white spotlights. The cloud of smoke, coupled with the deliberate half-light, made it hard to discern any faces, but Bakura guessed it didn't really matter. That group seemed to be their destination, so he would probably see them all from up close soon.

His eyes swiped the place hastily. There was a set of double wing doors next to the bar, probably leading to a kitchen or something similar. There was a small, wooden door with no sign; no clue as to where that one led. And a small corridor at the far side of the room, with a small sign above it that read _'Restroom'_  ; no questions about that one. No security cameras in there. At least, none that Bakura could spot, which was more worrying than reassuring. No emergency exits, either; weren't these modern places required to have one of these?

His eyes moved back to the group of men, who had fallen silent upon his entrance. Enki gave him an imperative push towards them. Bakura grunted his displeasure at the gesture and started walking towards the group of men. Beyond the haze of smoke, he made out six pairs of glinting eyes. He climbed the few steps of the platform, taking extra care in retaining his haughty, almost defiant posture. He did not care whether his attitude would work in his favor or not, but he was not going to act timidly in front of these people.

Once he was three paces away from the table, Enki's hand landed on his shoulder, indicating that he was not allowed to go any further. The yami momentarily glowered at the hand that had clamped him, but complied and stayed put.

Of the six men across from him, two were standing against the wall with their backs held straight and their hands folded in front of them. The other four were sitting on the plush leather couches around the table; two of them to the right, one to the left, and all three of them keeping a respectful distance from the one that was sitting at the head of the table.

Bakura was ready to bet his newly-acquired body that, if any of these men was the infamous Ishido, then it was the one at the centre. He was sitting back leisuredly, his face hidden in shadows, and was smoking a cigar that was responsible for the thickness of the cloud around their heads.

"This is him, Mr Ishido, sir," Enki said.

Sure enough, the man sitting at the head of the table moved. He leaned forward, allowing the glow of a spotlight to reveal the features of his face. Dark eyes and equally dark hair, a straight nose, thin lips. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance; he looked like an average man in his mid-thirties, just better groomed than most.

"Thank you, Enki," he said and waved a dismissive hand.

Enki released Bakura and backed away a few paces, but did not leave the room entirely.

He could feel all gazes in the room piercing him, but Bakura focused only on Ishido. He tried to read the man's face, to get to know what he was dealing with.

The first thing that struck him was that there was no emotion on that face. Well, no  _real_  emotion. Nothing could be extracted from his expression. Bakura couldn't tell whether his appearance had elicited surprise, contempt or disgust. Everything, from the amount of interest he showed to the specks of boredom he flavored that interest with, seemed incredibly calculated. The angle of his eyebrows, the shape of his mouth, the slight tilt of his head were under his complete control. Nothing leaked through.

And Bakura did not like it. Before this armor of a man, he felt disproportionately exposed.

Ishido's dark eyes scanned Bakura once and came to rest on his face.

"So... I heard that you wanted to see me, and apparently were very insistent about it." His voice held no annoyance, no threat, neither interest nor disinterest.

Bakura waited for him to go on but, when Ishido didn't, he realized that some kind of answer was expected from him. "Yes, I did," he grunted.

"What's your name, then?"

"Bakura."

Ishido slightly lifted one eyebrow. "First name or last name?"

"First name."

"Hmm. And last name?"

"None. Just Bakura."

"I see." He placed his cigar on the ashtray before him. The rest of the men remained silent, watching. "I understand you found me through Joji. That old codger. I'm surprised he's still out there." There was no surprise in his voice. "So..." He laced his fingers and rested his chin on them. "Why are you here?"

"I am looking for a job," Bakura said, as if that much wasn't obvious. Enki had most probably informed Ishido about that already but, for whatever reason, he wanted to hear it from him.

Whatever. He'd play his game for now.

"Is that the word in the streets these days?" Ishido said, feigning thoughtfulness. "Do people go around saying that I hand out jobs to whomever shows up on my doorstep?" Again there was no annoyance in his voice, just carefully measured incredulity.

"I was told that there might be a job here for someone with my skills," Bakura replied in an equally measured voice.

"And what are those skills?"

"I am a thief," Bakura said simply.

Ishido raised both eyebrows this time.

"Does this look like a den of thieves to you?" he asked, opening his arms to indicate the room before him.

A smirk curved Bakura's lips.

"I'm good in all kinds of stealing. Give me a deck, and I can assure you that no opponent will beat me."

A smile that hinted amusement appeared on Ishido's face; a small thing, rehearsed to perfection.

"Is that so?" he said, drawling deliberately. He sat back; the shadows enveloped him again but the glint of his smile remained visible. "And what makes you think that I steal from my customers?" He shook his head. "Cheating is bad for business. We do honest work here, Mr Bakura."

Bakura had to hold back a sharp laugh. Anything that required this level of secrecy and cover would never suggest 'honest work'.

His expression did not escape Ishido. His smile seemed to widen, but Bakura couldn't tell with certainty. "It seems you have some doubts," he said lightly. "I don't know what they told you about me and my employees, but I have no use for a thief."

Bakura's scowl deepened. Ishido was mocking him; he was sure of it. His hunch told him that the man before him was much more than the owner of an underground gambling den. His behavior was too careful, too... experienced, his acting skills too honed - not to mention he was there in the middle of noon, while his joint was closed for the day, surrounded by bodyguards and fellow 'businessmen'.

"Then what do you have a use for?" Bakura asked. "'Cause I have more skills that could prove useful." He hated that: trying to sell himself like he was some kind of product, but... The cold of the street was too fresh on his skin.

A low laugh drifted across the table.

"I have no use for anything right now, really."

Bakura was getting quite annoyed. And impatient.

"Then why did you allow me to come in?" he growled. "You knew what I wanted."

Ishido's silhouette moved; he brought a thoughtful finger to his lips. "Hmm... I admit I was curious."

Bakura did not buy that. Such men don't interrupt meetings just because they are  _curious_. He wouldn't have consented to see him at all if he really had no use for him. Hell, he wouldn't have let a complete stranger enter his super-secret den just like that. No... He was simply testing him, somehow. He had called him in, expecting to see something in him. Or, perhaps, expecting Bakura to say the right thing.

And Bakura had just about had enough of this. He was done trying to prove his worth to small time criminals. It was pathetic. Zorc would have sent these men scurrying to their mothers' laps, and yet there he was, trying to figure out what was the right thing to say.

He bristled in silence for a few seconds, glancing around. Damn the moment he decided he needed a fucking boss.

Yet, he was very much in need of something. Anything. And if that idiot did not want to hire him for his 'dirtier' jobs, then so be it. He obviously hadn't earned his trust, and he wasn't willing to try more.

As his eyes swept the room, they lingered on the octagon cage for a few seconds. He turned his head back to Ishido.

"Alright, then. Keep your secrets. I don't give a damn. But I really need some money, so..." He pointed to the boxing ring with his thumb. "I take it that you pay whomever puts up a good show in there?"

Ishido's smile widened by half an inch.

"You want to fight for me?"

"I want to fight for  _money_ ," Bakura corrected him.

"You don't strike me as the fighting type," Ishido said, pointedly examining him again.

"Give me some food and a pair of pants that fits, and I'll give you a show to remember."

Ishido chuckled. "That's... promising. And yet, hardly believable."

"Try me," Bakura shrugged.

Ishido considered him for a moment, his index finger tapping lightly at his lips. "Alright, I'll give you a chance. Tonight is a fight night, after all. I'll let you participate, in exchange for food and clothing."

His empty stomach gave a hopeful lurch, but he showed none of his enthusiasm. "And what about money? How much for a game?"

"Now, now..." Ishido shook his head. "I'm giving you a chance. That's your payment. Take it or leave it."

The edge of Bakura's mouth twisted unhappily, but he said nothing. There was no point in refusing now, was there? Even without a payment in cash, he would get a meal and clothes out of this, and perhaps more. That sounded good enough.

...Sure, walking out of there would also mean walking away from a possibly severe beating. However, if he had to choose between a beating and the streets, he would take the beating. A bit of pain did not scare him. He was the Thief King. He'd learned how to survive in the muddy streets of Egypt, thousands of years ago. His resolve was molded from blood and sand and hardened under the scorching sun. The soft, coddled men of today had nothing on him.

He wasn't wary of entering the ring, he was wary if what might come after it. He was wary of the man before him. The same careful smile still played on Ishido's lips, all thoughts and intentions behind it remaining unreadable. Definitely a sign for Bakura to  _not trust this man_.

But, whatever. Fighting in his underground den and trusting him were two different things.

"Fine," Bakura said.

Ishido clapped his hands together. "We have a deal, then! Excellent! Enki, find Aaron and tell im I've got another fighter for tonight."

"Yes, sir," Enki replied with a bow.

"Stay with our guest until Aaron arrives. And make sure that he receives the agreed-upon payment before tonight's fight."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Enki went for the double swing doors next to the bar. Bakura threw one final glance towards Ishido's group, but their attention was back to whatever they were discussing, making it clear that they were done with him for now. He let out a grunt and followed Enki.

It turned out that the double swing doors led, indeed, to a kitchen. After the half-light of the main hall, everything in there seemed too bright. White light was reflected on stainless steel surfaces and numerous appliances with a harshness that made Bakura's eyes hurt.

A single employee was sitting at a table, half-asleep over his unsolved sudoku puzzle. He glanced up when he heard them enter and frowned at Bakura.

"Who is this, Enki?"

"New fighter."

"And what's he doing here? Fight night doesn't start for another eight hours."

"He's here for  _lunch_ ," Enki said with a derisive scoff. "Boss's orders. Keep an eye on him for five minutes, I've got to call Aaron."

"Fine, fine..."

Enki left through the double swing doors, leaving Bakura and the kitchen employee - cook, perhaps? - alone. The man's eyes flicked back to Bakura, examining his figure - something that had really started getting to the yami's nerves. Then he sighed tiredly and pushed his sudoku aside.

"Okay, then. What do you wanna eat?" he asked Bakura.

"Whatever, as long as there's plenty of it."

The other man sighed again and opened huge refrigerator. "Is chicken alright?"

"Err..."

He realized with a start that he had no idea. He hadn't tasted anything in three millennia. He didn't even remember how tasting food felt _._  He'd been so preoccupied with _finding_ food that it hadn't even crossed his mind that he'd have to go through the experience of actually _tasting_ it.

Taste was one of the things he could not feel back when he was just a spirit in the Millennium Ring; just like hunger, or pain, and all other physical stimuli. Ryou had scolded him repeatedly - or had tried to, anyway - for the emaciated state he used to leave his body in. Although he had fed Ryou's body a couple of times when he'd been in control, he'd done it out of a realization that his host's body needed sustenance, not out of actual hunger. This detachment from earthly needs had served his purposes back then, but now... it just left him baffled.

He did not know if chicken was alright. Would it taste the same it had back in Egypt?

...Had he even tasted chicken back in Egypt?

"Dude, you alright?" the cook asked him, torn between indifference and concern.

"Err... yeah. Chicken's fine."

* * *

Having a body was complicated - he could say that with certainty now.

For one, once that guy started cooking and all kinds of smells filled the kitchen, Bakura's stomach started grumbling worse than before and he had to repeatedly swallow the saliva that filled his mouth. He did not like it. He was under the impression it made him look like starving beggar - which he  _was_ , but that did not mean he was content with looking like it.

He'd thought that the presence of food would have calmed his body down, not send it into this kind of frantic want. It was hard to keep his haughty look when his stomach growled so loudly.

When the cook put a plate of chicken and rice in front of him, Bakura felt he might faint with the intensity of his body's need for it. He was ready to wolf everything down, when a warning emerged from the depths of his memory and stilled his hand. Memory, or some long-ago ingrained instinct.

_Eat slowly, with measured bites. Eat too fast and you'll regret it._

He frowned at his plate. Did that warning make any sense?

It probably did. He had found himself starving many times in the past... hadn't he? He remembered it... sort of. Of course. Hunger had been unavoidable for a vagrant child in the sun-baked streets of Kemet. If his instincts told him to eat slowly, then he'd trust his past self.

When food touched his tongue for the first time in three thousand years, Bakura decided that yes, chicken was alright. Hell, it was more than alright. Overwhelming, even. He tried not to let too much of his contentment show on his face, though, because Enki was back and watching him closely. If Bakura wanted to keep some sort of upper hand in this situation, he had to keep acting as if everything was below him. He knew that, the moment he'd let a crack show, everybody would be on him like rabid hyenas. And not just in this particular place. That thing was a given, no matter where in the world he was, or with whom.

Was that another ingrained lesson? He guessed so.

By the time he emptied the second plate, he was feeling better. Less faint, less light-headed. There was no painful hollowness in his abdomen anymore, just a feeling of satisfaction. Which was nice.

And feeling nice was unusual.

Instead of making him feel at ease, it set him on edge even more, simply because it felt wrong. Wrong, and dangerous. Feeling nice held the threat of him relaxing, being lulled into a false state of safety and lowering his defenses. And such a thing could prove fatal.

So he declined more food, even though he felt that he  _needed_  to eat more. His stupid host must have been taking really bad care of his body.

Idiot yadonushi. After so many years of owning a body, he was supposed to know how to take care of one. As a result of his host's incompetence, Bakura was now stuck with this useless pile of skinny limbs.

But no matter. He would make it work. He was already feeling better.

"So, what's next?" he turned to Enki, who was leaning against a wall, looking bored.

"We are waiting for Aaron."

"Who is Aaron?"

"He's the one in charge of fight nights. Schedule, fighters, pairings and the like. Your 'coach', for lack of a better term. But don't expect actual coaching."

"I see." Bakura pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "And how long 'till this Aaron guy arrives?"

"Any minute now. I'll take you to the changing room, if you're done here."

"Yeah, I'm done."

"Gee, I could use a  _'thank you for the meal',_ " the cook murmured.

Bakura scoffed and followed Enki out of the kitchen and back in the main hall. Ishido and his group were still talking and ignoring them completely, but Bakura did not mistake their seeming indifference for a lack of awareness for their comings and goings. The only one that openly watched them as they crossed the hall was the barman, who seemed as bored as the cook had been. Apparently, even when this place was closed for the day, they had to be there to serve Ishido and his affiliates.

Enki led Bakura through the simple, wooden door he had spotted before. A small corridor connected a few rooms that seemed like changing rooms or some kind of prep area. Enki turned on the light in one of them, revealing benches, sinks, a couple of showers and a large mirror. One wall was completely taken up by small lockers.

Enki leaned against a wall and crossed his bulky arms across his chest, not letting Bakura off his gaze. Bakura took off his jacket and sat on one of the benches to wait for Aaron, doing his best to ignore Enki and his annoying constant vigilance.

He started picking one of his sweater's many loose threads. The thing was too big on him, and it had definitely seen better - and cleaner - days. If Ishido kept his end of the bargain, he'd have clean and fitting clothes soon. Bakura wondered whether he'd be able to get a shower out of this situation, too. He'd take whatever he could, that was for sure.

The door opened and a man walked in; a short one, apparently in his mid-forties. Whatever hair was left on his head was buzzed, leaving every crook of his skull clearly visible. He was plump, but he had the stature of a man that had been in a good physical condition for years. He retained his well-developed musculature, despite his round belly and heavy gait.

He closed the door behind him and immediately peered at Bakura.

"You are the new one?" he said instead of a greeting. The yami nodded. "Get up," the man ordered briskly.

Bakura complied, even though he was not looking forward to another scrutinizing session.

Sure enough, the man's tiny grey eyes examined Bakura from head to foot. Then he frowned, bringing a pair of bushy eyebrows together in clear dissatisfaction. "Take off your sweater."

Bakura did as he was told, and took the huge and smelly thing off. He felt his hair stand on end from the sudden change of temperature, even though it wasn't really cold in there.

The man shook his head. "What is this joke?" he turned to Enki.

"Boss's orders," was all that Enki said.

The man huffed and reached for his pocket. He took out a pack of cigarettes, picked one and stored the rest back in his pocket. Bakura watched in silence as the man lit the edge of his cigarette and took a very deep drag. Bakura had learned enough about his world to know that smoking was supposed to calm the nerves of the people who indulged in it, so he supposed it was not a good sign that his... coach, or whatever, had felt the need to light one upon seeing him.

Then again, he could be one of those people that smoked all day long, no matter what.

The man started prodding Bakura's sides with his huge hand. Under the sudden contact the yami jolted, but he immediately willed himself to stay still as he underwent his 'coach's' inspection.

"There's just skin an' bones here," the man mumbled, smoke streaming out of his mouth.

He kept prodding Bakura in various places for a while more, muttering curses under his breath. Then he took a step back, took another long drag from his cigarette and puffed out the smoke slowly.

"What's your name?"

"...Bakura."

"What happened to the rest of it?"

"It's just Bakura."

The man took another drag and said, "I'm Aaron. I'm the one responsible for the fights here, and I'm supposed to send your ass to the ring tonight." He shook his head. "The way I see it, that ain't happening."

"I can fight," Bakura said through gritted teeth.

"Don't make me laugh, son. A blow of air could take you down, and I'm not sending you out there to be killed."

"What's it to you?"

Aaron puffed out smoke furiously. "Look, I don't give a rat's ass whether you get your face smashed or not, but it's bad business. We're not some lowly fight club where every airhead who thinks they can fight can come in and try their luck. People place serious bets on our fighters and, let's face it, son: you just ain't good business."

"Try me."

"Try what? Sending you out there to be knocked-out in two seconds?"

"I have a deal with Ishido."

"What the fuck is Ishido thinking?" Aaron exclaimed. He gingerly turned around and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

In the ensuing silence, Bakura scowled at the floor, avoiding Enki's look. It was grating at his nerves that no one seemed to consider him a threat anymore. He, who had once brought Kemet to its knees.

When Aaron walked back in, he looked livid.

"Yeah, Ishido says he wants to see you fight tonight, so that's that." He sighed and rubbed his face with his huge palm. He stared at Bakura, anger dissipating to resignation. "How old are you?"

That was a good question.

His hikari had mentioned that eleven years had passed, so that would make him... Oh, _fuck_. How old had Ryou been before? He had been with Ryou ever since he was a child, but he never kept track of the years. By the time of his shadow RPG, Ryou had been... what? Seventeen? Eighteen? Twenty-three?

Aaron raised a questioning eyebrow.

"...I'm not sure," Bakura admitted.

"You gotta be kidding me..." he huffed. "Alright. Take off the rest of your clothes so I can weigh you."

He stripped and stepped on the scale that Aaron indicated.

"110 pounds..." Aaron murmured, looking more resigned than ever.

"Keep in mind he just ate two plates of chicken and rice," Enki pointed out.

"Yeah, well, that's the least of my worries." He stared at Bakura, lost in thought. "Alright, look. I have a fighter I could pair you with. You'll still be underweight, but it's the best I can do. He was supposed to fight next week, but... Oh, well."

He took his phone out and walked towards the exit. "Enki, find him something to wear. Something he can actually fight in."

* * *

Bakura was in the narrow shower, standing completely still as the blissfully hot water hit his skin. He hadn't been cold for the past few hours, but he hadn't been truly warm, either. Now he could feel the lingering cold seep out of his bones, washing the memory of the previous night from his body.

He placed both palms flat on the tiles that lined the wall and let his head drop with a long sigh. Water kept hitting the back of his head, making uneven white fringes droop in front of his eyes. Muscles he hadn't realized he was clenching started to unwind.

How long until those same muscles ended up sore and aching...?

His fight was scheduled to start soon. He had spent some time with Aaron who, after he found out that Bakura had never had any training in any of the known martial arts, had lit another cigarette, mumbling ' _fucking street brawler'_ under his breath. As Enki had said, no actual coaching came from Aaron. Just an explanation of the basic rules: no eye-gouging, no fish-hooks, what gestures meant that he gives up... And that was it. There would be no referee, nor timed rounds. The fights ended either with a knock-out, or with one of the two fighters surrendering.

They allowed Bakura to spend the day there. They said it was because he had nowhere else to go, but Bakura was under the impression that they just wanted to keep an eye on him. He did not even consider going back to the club upstairs, so he spent his hours in the changing room, lying on a bench and trying to get as much rest as possible. Enki almost never left him out of his sight - which was irritating - but never spoke, either - which was good. The idea of small talk made Bakura cringe, even though he had nothing better to do to pass the time.

He was relieved when they allowed him to take a shower. For one, he would get rid of the awful smell that clung to his skin and, more importantly, a shower meant a few moments of privacy. Enki was standing right outside but, for now, a door separated them and that was enough.

Bakura sighed again and the steam before his mouth swirled. He looked down, at the marks the Millennium Ring had left on his abdomen. All of this still seemed... impossible. Not only did he have a body, but Zorc was gone from his mind, too. For the first time in thousands of years, there was silence in his head.

There'd never been silence before.

There'd always been ninety-nine ghost mouths following him. Always urging him to go on, to not settle, to not stop until he avenged them.

Sometimes their voices had been furious, and it had felt like a storm raging inside his skull. Those had been the times when he could feel their rage burn hot in his own blood, mingling with his own, very-existing resentment. Those had been the times when he clenched his fists and promised to have his revenge on the Pharaoh, out loud, so that the Gods would listen and know that he was not afraid of their pampered son. Those had been the times when he, the bandit child, crowned king by a hundred ghosts, swore that he would pay back blood with blood and turn Kemet to cinders, just to have both Gods and mortals see what it felt like to lose their home.

Those had been the times when the ghosts' cries for vengeance roared like the fires that had once melted their bodies.

Sometimes, though, their voices had been nothing but whispers, like the caress of the wind over sleeping sand. They had consoled him, praised him,  _him_ , their champion, their pride, the last of their blood. On and on their whispering would go, until it turned into a drone, never soothing enough to make up for the loneliness and the lost warmth, never real enough to make him feel his home and family was still there with him.

Soft and constant their murmurs had been, like desert breeze upsetting resting ashes.

He could not remember a moment of silence in his life.

It had not been silent in the Ring. Zorc's spirit had been raging and writhing. His whispers had been worse that the ghosts'. His voice had been a dark spell, entrancing him bit by bit. On and on and on, like poison hitting his skull, drop by drop, word by word, until there was no telling where he ended and where the darkness begun.

Hot water was hitting his head now, streaming down his body, dripping, hitting the tiles, swooshing down the drain. And, for the first time in eons, there was silence in his head.

No ghosts. No Zorc. No host.

Just him.

Him... If he subtracted the desire for revenge, the hate, the darkness, the anger... Who was he? What was left?

His self was lost somewhere in time. His soul was riddled with holes, no more than a rag. He was tired.

He curled and uncurled his fingers against the tiles. He watched the drops of water that made his skin glisten. Ryou's skin, pale and scarred. Ryou's body, thin and weak. But not Ryou's mind.

...How had this happened?

How had things come to this?

In a short while, he would have to step in the cage and fight. He would have to make use of this body as best as he could. He glanced at his forearms and his flat biceps. He could understand Aaron's skepticism, even his contempt. His body was laughable. He had insisted that he could fight, because  _he_ could, but Ryou couldn't. That much was obvious.

Perhaps he'd been too sure of himself. Perhaps he'd bitten more than he could chew. He wondered what would fail him first: his muscles or his heart.

He shook his head and let it hang a bit lower. No point in thinking like that. He would fight, no matter what. He would not walk away, because that would mean he was giving up. And the King of Thieves  _never_  gave up.

He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

"You took your time," Enki grunted, handing him a towel.

Bakura did not respond, but accepted the towel and dried his skin and hair. He slipped into a pair of red fight-shorts, remaining sombre and silent.

The other fighters had started arriving; he could hear them talking in the adjacent changing rooms. Music was issuing from the main hall, along with a few muffled voices. Bakura retreated to the most shadowy corner of the room, with his back against the wall, and waited.

As time passed, the noise beyond the door grew louder, suggesting a crowd gathering. Some of the other fighters started walking in and out of the changing room, and Bakura observed them discreetly, trying not to show interest or curiosity. Most of these men were massive and had mastered the glance-at-me-and-you-are-dead look; half of them were heavily tattooed, or scarred, or both, and buzzed heads seemed to be the norm.

Despite his efforts to achieve just that, the yami's presence did not go unnoticed. He became the object of stares and several not-so-furtive remarks. Thankfully, no one tried to start a discussion with him, so he was able to continue doing his best to pretend he was ignoring them.

At some point the door opened and a wave of music and chattering rolled inside the changing room, along with a man with a clipboard. The door closed and all noise became distant and muffled once more.

The newcomer exchanged a few words with each fighter while scribbling at his clipboard until, eventually, he came to stand before Bakura.

"You, the white-haired one."

Bakura gave him a mildly bored look.

"Name?" the man said, pen hovering over a page.

"Bakura."

The man wrote that down and opened his mouth. Before he had the chance to utter his next question, the yami cut across him.

"Just Bakura."

The man frowned and scribbled on his paper. "Your ring nickname?" he asked then.

"What?"

The man looked up from his clipboard and it was his turn to look mildly bored. "How do you want me to introduce you to the audience? Are you going in to fight as Just Bakura or are you going to use a nickname?"

Bakura thought about it for a second. Perhaps keeping his identity a secret from the crowd was not such a bad idea. He had no papers or anything traceable, but he had a former host going by the same name.

Not that he cared if he dragged Ryou into trouble. Because he didn't.

But still.

He considered going out as the  _Thief King_ , but such a title seemed too risky for a place like this. Better to lay low, give no information about himself. Attract no attention and then strike from the shadows: that was his way.

"...Diabound," he said at length.

The man wrote it down. "Alright. You're fighting last. You're paired with Kaito." Whoever that was.

He put the clipboard under his arm and left. Barely a minute passed and Aaron walked in. He stood in the middle of the small corridor, to make sure everyone in the changing room area heard him, and shouted, "Show's on in five, boys!"

Bakura soon realized that waiting was the worst part. Watching the other fighters walk past his changing room, hearing the door to the main hall open and the crowd roaring. An announcer's voice was booming through the speakers. The crowd's cheers and shouts were deafening in the confines of the underground hall.

Bakura tried not to listen. He clenched and unclenched his fists, staring at them; thin muscles were pulled tight and then loosened again. They looked so fragile.

The doubts that had crept into his mind while in the shower came back full-force. He tried to fight them away. He tried not to think at all, but his stomach still felt like being tied into a knot.

 _Stop this_ , he ordered himself.  _You know how to fight_.

It didn't even matter that he wasn't fit. He hadn't been any fitter when he'd been eight years old and forced survive without a family or a home. He'd been a scrawny kid, armed with nothing but stubbornness and a refusal to give up.

Bakura chuckled deeply. History repeated itself, after all.

When Aaron called him, he stood up and stretched. He extended his hands and allowed Aaron to wrap what seemed to be red cotton tape all the way from his wrist to the base of his fingers. Once he was done, Bakura tried curling and uncurling his fingers. The wrap was tight enough to make his joints feel stable, but not so tight as to cut off circulation. It felt good, actually.

"You gonna do something about the hair?" Aaron asked.

Bakura shrugged. Hair had never been a point of concern for him.

Aaron just sighed and gave him a hairband, and Bakura deigned to pull his white hair back into a ponytail.

"Alright. Ready to go out there?" Aaron asked as he handed him a mouthguard.

Bakura just smirked.

How long since the last time he'd fought? How long since he'd danced between blades, fooled arrows, outran guards? So many years... So many. It had been a long while since the last time he'd used his own bare hands as a weapon. He'd grown too accustomed to solving his problems with shadow magic.

He placed the mouthguard against his teeth and gums. The sensation was unpleasant, but he guessed in was better than having a tooth knocked out. He left the changing room and walked outside.

The main hall was crowded, full of noise and smoke. All spotlights were shining on the ring in the center of the room, leaving the crowd in relative darkness; just a mass of shouting and squirming shadows. Bakura crossed the sea of people, following the path they had left open for him. Both cheering and booing was loud in his ears, comments that did not really mean anything to him, whistles, pats on the back. Cigarette smoke was creating mesmerizing shapes under the white lights.

He fixed his eyes on the ring that awaited him. He climbed the steps and one sound rose above all the rest. A name, called through the speakers: Diabound.

He stepped in the ring slowly, glancing at the link fence that surrounded him before his eyes returned to the floor. He walked the perimeter of the ring, sizing it up with his steps, familiarizing himself with its dimensions.

For the next minutes, these few square feet would be all he had. No way in or out, until either he or his opponent was down.

Just like a shadow game. Perhaps a bit different from the kind he was used to, but a shadow game nonetheless.

And he was good at games.

Another man stepped in the ring under loud cheering. He looked young, no more than nineteen years old. His lean body was toned and tattooed and his eyes were sparkling with the promise of violence. Bakura was vaguely aware of the announcer shouting something like 'Kaito The Shark' through the speakers.

The door of the ring closed, caging them in.

The sharp sound of a bell sliced the air.

His opponent was fast. He moved without hesitation, lunging at Bakura like a starved animal going for easy prey. Eager to attack - and easy to dodge.

The ring's floorboards vibrated under Bakura's feet as he moved. It was a supple surface, not as unforgiving as the sand had been. He danced around, relishing the speed of unobstructed steps.

A blow came, inevitably, right at Bakura's naked ribs. Pain registered, dully, distantly. He noticed the blur of a fist coming towards his jaw just in time to step out of the way. He back-stepped and swerved to avoid blows, his heart beating madly. He could hearing nothing past his blood rushing and his own harsh exhales.

Eventually his back hit one of the walls of the cage. His opponent rushed to corner him, his eyes wild and taunting, with a hint of triumph at their edges. Bakura managed to slither under the arms that tried to grapple him and jumped away. He made out shouts; tens of rough voices swelling to fill the air of the underground hall. They were probably shouting at him to stop fooling around and fight back. Or, perhaps, they were just cheering for his opponent. Either was equally unimportant to him.

He kept dancing around the ring and the first boos reached his ears. If the way he fought was annoying, all the better. It might even set his opponent on edge, and a frustrated opponent meant a less focused one.

The problem was that breathing was getting harder with each second that passed. It was becoming more and more obvious to him that his body was unfamiliar with such overexertion. His heart was was racing, trying frantically to keep up. He started panting, and the mouthguard only made things worse.

His opponent was not even slightly out of breath.

Bakura cursed inwardly and tried to focus on the fists that darted towards him.  _Damn him_ , this Kaito guy was  _fast_. Bakura's eyes flicked from fist to fist as he dodged, hoping that at least his reflexes would not fail him.

He never saw the knee that came for his stomach. His breath was knocked out of him violently. His body doubled over of its own accord and he staggered, vision momentarily darkened. His feet lost their lightness.

He blinked and the darkness acquired colors again.

Knuckles collided with his right cheekbone. The world tilted.

Bleary eyes searched for his opponent's limbs, spotted a fist coming for his jaw. His brain screamed at him to dodge, but his legs did not respond. He lifted his arms to protect his head and earned a kick in the ribs that threw him against the link fence of the cage.

Boos and jeers and his own grunts filled his ears. Kaito 'The Shark', now nothing more than a flesh-colored blur, closed in to finish him off.

Quick and acute like lightning, a memory flashed through his mind.

For barely a second, the crowd's noise was muffled. The glow of the spotlights turned into that of gold sun rays. Kaito 'The Shark' disappeared and a different man took his place: a guard, strong and tall, a lot taller than Bakura, holding a curved blade in his hands.

And Bakura was still almost doubled over, only his hands were smaller and drenched in something slick and hot. He was clutching at the right side of his face, which was nothing but darkness and shattering pain.

The blade gleamed in the sunlight, inviting whatever had remained of his eyesight to follow its movement. Bakura did not allow it to. He fixed his left eye on the guard's chest and willed his hands to let go of his bleeding face. He ducked to avoid the whizzing blade, left eye always at the center of the guard's torso. That little spot was his target: the small patch of flesh that hid his opponent's most important vital organ. He was determined not to let it off his gaze.

His hands flew to the hilt of his small knife. The guard's blade kept glinting in his peripheral vision and the instinct to look at it was strong. Too strong. Still, Bakura didn't. His target was the chest.

The next dodge came easily - so easily that his small heart filled with elation despite the stinging pain in his face. In the next second, the knife was out of its makeshift sheath and plunged to its hilt in its target. In his head, a choir of ghosts was chanting triumphantly.

Bakura blinked, with both eyes this time, and the vision of Egypt's sun was replaced by cold spotlights. What was flying towards him was not a blade, but a fist.

His eyes found his opponent's chest, and the next dodge came easily.

Of course. Eyes always on the chest, to keep all limbs withing sight. How could he have forgotten? He'd almost payed with his right eye to learn this lesson.

Magic had made him soft.

His opponent's chest was glistening with sweat, inked skin pulled taut over lean muscles. Limbs moved in the corners of Bakura's eyes, but this time he resisted the urge to glance at them. There was a dull burning in the places he's already been hit. Good. Let that act as a reminder and maybe help him stop acting like an amateur.

Bakura's feet were a tad too late to respond to his commands, but his opponent's movements were easier to trace. He still had a chance.

He clenched both his fists and his jaw and aimed for his opponent's less guarded spot. For the first time that night, he felt the satisfaction of knuckles hitting flesh. His other fist rose to meet the man's jaw but, before he was able to land the hit, another blow intensified the burning in his stomach.

 _Focus, you idiot_ , his brain hissed at himself.

He could see blows coming. He dodged one, two, three, and took the fourth squarely in the face. His skull rang. He recognized the taste of blood the moment it hit his tongue.

 _Keep moving_.

It was move or die; it'd always been move or die. His lungs were on fire. With his next step, the world swam dangerously.

 _No._  He couldn't stop. He couldn't stop moving.

Every muscle on his body was screaming. He'd never known that breathing could get so hard. No, that was not true; he must have known, once. Before the demon, before the magic, back when he'd just been Bakura. He must have known.

His limbs were heavy, slow. The limbs of someone else, a body he had no control on. A body that was not his own.

But... He could feel the pain, spreading through his torso with each breath. This pain was _his_. He took a blow, felt the blood running from his nose to his mouth, tasted it. The blood that was pumping his heart. His own heart. His own brain. He moved in the way only he knew, in the way he'd learned when he'd prowled around Kemet. Before he learned how to be a demon, he'd learned how to be a jackal, a cat, a snake.

His legs felt sluggish, but they'd always been like that when immersed in the sands of the desert. Dehydration and hunger had made his body unresponsive more than once, but he'd always pulled through, somehow.

He kept his elbows close to his ribs to guard them from an oncoming kick, and the impact sent a ripple through his bones. With his peripheral vision he saw the opening he'd been looking for and urged his arm to move. He crunched bruised abs, relaxed his protesting shoulder and twisted his body. He drove his fist at his opponent's right side, right under the dip of his ribs. Somehow, through the thundering of his pulse and the roars of the crowd and the ringing in his own skull, he made out a grunt.

The opponent's chest moved away. His blurry body curled in on itself. A moment's stillness.

The movement resumed, but the blows that came this time lacked their usual nerve. The other man's feet dragged.

Bakura dared lift his eyes. The fog in his vision was thick, the world was just shapes and fire, but he saw the other man blink. Stagger. Blink again, probably dazed.

Bakura gritted his teeth, lifted his arm. Brought his elbow down. He hit something solid and the blurry figure that was Kaito 'The Shark' hit the floor of the ring with a thud that traveled to Bakura's feet.

There was noise. So much noise.

Bakura kept looking at the prone figure, breathing through his mouth, breathing past his blood. His body was tense, ready to deliver another blow at the first hint of movement. The figure before him remained still.

He heard a familiar word. Diabound.

He looked around just in time to see the door of the cage opening. A man stepped in. Pushed Bakura aside. Knelt over the fallen man, said something indistinct.

The man stood up, caught Bakura's wrist. Shouted something and lifted Bakura's arm. Noise.

Hands led him off the ring, through the crowd, through a door. Then the noise was less, and the ringing in his ears was louder. He recognized the changing room he had spent his afternoon in. He spotted a bench. He walked to it and sat down; carefully, slowly, because everything was moving.

Fingers caught his shoulders, steadied him, and started prodding his face. They tilted his head back.

"Not broken," said a voice somewhere above his head.

Then there was a clap on his back that sent pain shooting through him.

"Easy," he croaked; the tiny sound scratched his throat.

Nobody seemed to have heard him. The voice above his head went on loudly.

"What a fight, son! You didn't look like you had it in you!"

Bakura closed his eyes because the light was too much for them and let his head drop forward. The movement made his stomach lurch and nausea hit him. He spat the mouthguard and took deep breaths.

Something fluffy and soft was pressed against his nose and mouth and another stream of words rattled around his skull. He reached for what he realized was a ball of cotton and held it in place with numb fingers. Pain hit him in waves, intensifying with each throb.

"...and then Ishido says he wants to talk to you."

He blinked and turned around. Aaron's face came into focus.

"Well, hello there," he chuckled when Bakura's eyes found him. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

It took Bakura half an hour to regain full control of his senses and be able to walk without sending the world into mad spinning. He took a shower, wincing as the water hit bruised muscles and cuts he hadn't realized were there. When he got out of the shower, he found a pile of clothes waiting for him: a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a black hoodie, a pair of underwear, warm socks. All clean; brand new, apparently. Everything fitting perfectly.

Once dressed, he walked to the large mirror to evaluate the bruising. When his eyes found their reflection, he froze. This was the first time he got a proper look at himself ever since his... rebirth. His eerily white skin was red and puffy in places, and his nose was gradually turning a shade of purple that looked as bad as it felt. He pushed his wet fringes out of the way and kept staring. Something was wrong, and he couldn't tell what.

He couldn't stop looking. He wished he could be able to say that this was Ryou looking at him so blankly, but it wasn't. There was no Ryou in this reflection. There was no Zorc, either. He couldn't recognize the person in the mirror.

The irises weren't brown like Ryou's. They were a deep, dirty red. Perhaps that was what was wrong; just the color of his eyes being a bit off. He kept staring, and suddenly it hit him.

This was him. Just him.

He was looking at himself for the first time in forever. The eyes that were blinking back at him were his eyes, and they had the color of earth mingled with blood. Just like his whole life.

He let the white fringes fall back into place and watched his mouth twist into a grimace. Yeah, this was definitely him.

"Oh, come on, it could be worse," Aaron's voice made him jump. He had forgotten he was watching him.

Bakura swallowed and tore his gaze away from the mirror. "Yeah..." he said. His voice was still hoarse.

"Come on, then, Ishido's waiting."

With the fights over for the night, the atmosphere in the main hall had changed. The crowd that had surrounded the ring had dispersed and had either gathered around the poker tables or sat on the small, plain ones to enjoy a drink and talk. The music was back on, just loud enough to cover most of the constant chatter.

Ishido was once more sitting at his private table, but the group around him was different. For the second time that day, Bakura climbed the few wide steps that brought him to Ishido's level, and waited.

The moment he spotted him, Ishido clapped his hands and flashed him a smile full of teeth.

"There he is!" he exclaimed. "And still walking! That's a lot more than I expected, really. You impressed me."

Bakura looked into those cool and definitely unimpressed eyes. He pressed his lips into a thin line to refrain from doing another, possibly disrespectful grimace, and immediately regretted it because his jaw hurt.

"Oh, don't be so sulky. Smile a bit. You won, after all!" Ishido said. For some reason, the two women that were sitting next to him giggled, even though he had not said something particularly funny.

"I did win," Bakura said. "What's next?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do I get paid for my next fight or what? And how much?"

Ishido's black eyes flashed. The pleasant smile did not leave his face. "Talking about business already? Rest a bit. Here, come have a drink."

"I'd prefer to make everything clear first, thanks," Bakura replied coldly.

He could not make out Ishido's low chuckles over the general din, but he saw his chest move.

"Alright, then. If you want to talk business, let's talk business." He straightened up, placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his intertwined fingers. "You fought... interestingly. Certainly brought a much needed breath of fresh air. Things had started getting... stagnant at fight nights. Your presence should liven things up a bit."

"That's good to hear."

"Still... Tonight's fight was a close call for you. Or, at least, that's what it looked like to those of us watching."

"...It was," Bakura admitted begrudgingly.

"Now, I can't guarantee you longevity at our fight nights. I mean, who knows how long until things get boring again and I'm forced to replace you?" He shrugged with exaggerated theatricality. "However, if you want to last more than a week, I'd suggest you train a bit."

That went without saying. It was one of Bakura's top priorities, anyway.

"So, how do things work with payment? Do I get payed after every fight?" the yami asked.

"Normally, yes. Aaron will explain the details."

"How much?"

Ishido's eyes narrowed by a fraction. "Thirty thousand yen a fight."

Bakura scoffed. "You expect me to get my lights repeatedly knocked out for thirty thousand?"

"That's the standard reward per fight. Nothing I can do about it."

 _Yeah, sure,_  Bakura sneered inwardly.  _Nothing he can do in his own business._ Still, it might not be so bad an arrangement if he managed to hit two birds with one stone.

"I'm gonna need a place to stay, too," he said, closely watching Ishido for any indication that he'd just pushed his luck too far.

Surprisingly, Ishido grinned widely.

"Yes, I supposed so. I'm willing to help you with this issue. All the buildings in the block belong to me, and house both my businesses and my employees. I'm sure we can spare a room for you."

Bakura narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Sure, that was exactly what he'd been after, so he shouldn't complain, but... That'd been too easy.

The way he saw it, Ishido wasn't going to earn his trust anytime soon. Probably never.

"Alright," was all the yami said. "I guess it's settled, then."

"I guess it is."

Ishido lifted an arm and beckoned to someone who was standing out of sight. Sure enough, Enki approached; he had substituted the white t-shirt for a black and quite mournful button-up one.

"Oh, there you are. I wondered where you'd gone," Bakura said and rolled his eyes.

Enki did not reply at this blatantly sarcastic remark. He just stood before Ishido's table and bowed.

"Mr Bakura will stay with us," his boss informed him. "Please, help accommodate him upstairs."

"Yes, sir," Enki bowed again. He turned on his heel and murmured, "Let's go," to Bakura.

"Get some rest, Mr Bakura! You deserve it!" Ishido called, lifting his glass in a toast. Bakura simply let out an indistinct grunt and followed Enki.

They left the gambling den, crossed the underground corridor and climbed the stairs. This time, there was one more guard next to the trapdoor, and he greeted Enki with a nod. There was the muffled sound of loud music reverberating through the walls. Enki opened the door they had walked through earlier in the day - the door that led to the  _Golden Egg_ club - and deafening music echoed in the corridor. To Bakura's horror, Enki motioned him inside.

The place that had been silent and eerily decadent during the day was completely different during the night. The shades of wood and crimson remained, intensified under the glow of red and golden lights. A much bigger crowd than the one downstairs was drinking, laughing, chattering, or simply watching the show: on the stage, a group of dancers were in the middle of a routine, wearing something that resembled half of a policeman's uniform. Scantily clad waiters and waitresses flashed charming smiles to the patrons as they handed out drinks. The music was so loud it made Bakura's bones rattle.

He stood on the threshold, overwhelmed by the noise and the multicolored lights that hit his retinas. He hadn't liked that place before, but it was even worse now. At least, he was glad the 'job' he had managed to land was quite different. Still... He watched a waitress sway her hips as she carried her tray around and he wondered whether this was actually worse than getting the living crap beaten out of him.

Enki leaned closer to Bakura's ear and spoke up to be heard over the commotion.

"Five minutes' break. I want a drink."

Bakura shrugged and followed him to the bar. "Are you supposed to drink while working?" he asked as he perched on a high stool.

"Depends on the night. Come on, have a drink, too." When Bakura raised an eyebrow, Enki went on, "It's on the house. You fought well."

"Whatever."

Enki ordered a vodka and Bakura asked for the same, if only because he had no idea what else to ask for. There were so many bottles lined up on the shelves, bearing liquids of so many different colors, that he wondered why the hell mortals had felt the need to create so many different types of alcohol.

The barman placed a short glass with a clear liquid in front of him. Bakura sniffed at its contents and immediately recoiled; his sore nose stung at the inhale.

Enki watched him, sipping from his own glass with a small, amused smirk. Bakura decidedly brought his glass to his lips, simply because he did not like being made fun of, drank, and felt the fiery trail the alcohol left down his throat. Unlike the burning pain in his bruised body, this one was mostly warming. Kinda pleasant.

Enki took out a bag of tobacco, placed a filter tip on his lips and started rolling a cigarette. Bakura watched the movement of his fingers with curiosity.

"Do you smoke?" Enki asked him, moving his lips as little as possible to retain his hold on the filter tip.

"Err..." Bakura hesitated for the umpteenth time that day.

They did not have tobacco back in Egypt and he seriously doubted that Ryou had taken up the habit of smoking; the brat had always been such an uptight, rule-abiding goody two-shoes.

Enki finished rolling his cigarette and lit its tip. "Wanna try?" he asked.

Bakura blinked. Enki wasn't being exactly friendly - he had a casual and almost bored tone - but it was still a big difference from the silent sentinel he'd been all day. He held out the lit cigarette.

 _What the hell_ , Bakura thought. Apparently, this was the day of new experiences, so he might as well add one more to the list. So far, the food and the vodka had been nice.

He took the cigarette and held it between this thumb and index finger. He was probably holding it in a ridiculous way, because Enki chuckled.

Bakura frowned. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Well, take a drag, then inhale deeply to send the smoke to your lungs. Although, I must warn you... Since it's your first time, you're probably not gonna like it."

"That's encouraging," Bakura said and placed the cigarette between his lips. He followed Enki's instructions, watched the tip of the cigarette glow red, and felt something hot and almost coarse hit the back of his throat. He inhaled and felt the burning reach his chest.

And then the world swam. All of his muscles, pained or not, sighed in relief. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine, all the way to his toes, which curled of their own accord.

He exhaled, and realized he had closed his eyes.

Enki was chuckling. "I thought you didn't smoke."

"I thought so, too," Bakura replied gruffly.

He tried it again, just to make sure. The smoke felt like hot coals grazing his throat, but the numbness that spread to his limbs was blissful. He puffed out the smoke slowly, contemplating his body's surprisingly positive response. "Really, Ryou?" he murmured.

"Who?"

"Never mind," Bakura said and extended the cigarette back to Enki.

"Nah, keep it. You look like you could use it," he said and took out his tobacco bag to roll a new one for himself.

Bakura stayed silent for a while, and then mumbled an uncertain, "Thanks."

Enki shrugged. Bakura watched him roll a cigarette, more attentively this time. They did not speak again. They smoked and finished their drinks in silence, every now and then glancing at the dancers on the stage. Once they were done, Enki stood up and said, "Let's get going."

Bakura climbed down from his stool. He expected the alcohol to have affected his body to a considerable degree, but he found he was quite steady on his feet.

 _Really, Ryou?_ he thought again, frowning at his body.

They walked out of  _The Golden Egg_ , leaving the headache-inducing noise behind them, and took a turn to a narrow wooden staircase that creaked ominously with each step.

"So, do you all live here?" Bakura asked.

"More or less. Not just here. Mr Ishido owns all the surrounding buildings."

"Does he live here, too?"

Enki scoffed. "Of course not."

Of course. How convenient. Keep them all in one place where he can watch them and have them at his beck and call at all times.

"What does Ishido  _really_  do?" Bakura ventured to ask.

Enki let out a short laugh. "Everything."

That wasn't a very specific answer, but it was enough.

They climbed three floors and landed on a corridor lined with doors at both sides. It looked a lot like a hotel; a low budget one. As they walked the length of the corridor, one of the doors opened. A man walked out, hastily putting on his coat. A reasonably pretty girl appeared behind him, wrapped in a silk robe. She leaned against the frame of the door, thanked him and bid him goodnight in a sing-song voice. The man left, and the door closed.

"Are they allowed to do that?" Bakura asked, more unnerved than he would like to admit.

"They are allowed to do whatever they want in their free time, as long as they share part of their profits," Enki said impassively.

"...Lovely."

"Alright, here we are." Enki stopped in front of a door bearing the number  _38_ on a rusty brass sign. He handed Bakura a small key. "All yours."

Bakura unlocked the door. The inside proved to be something like a very small flat. Nothing more than a bed, a narrow table, a small fridge and a bathroom. Just like the whole building, the place had not seem a renovation for at least fifty years. But it would do.

"Here," Enki said. He threw Bakura the bag of tobacco, the packet of filter tips, rolling paper and a cheap plastic lighter. When Bakura frowned at him, Enki made a nonchalant grimace. "There's not much left in it, anyway," he pointed at the tobacco bag. He turned around and took his leave without further farewells or wishes for a good night.

Bakura closed the door and looked at his flat. Well... 'Room' would be a more appropriate word for it. There was a single small window, which he opened to get rid of the faint smell of mould that lingered in the air. The late December's cold rushed in and he welcomed it. After being underground for so many hours, the outside air felt refreshing, no matter how cold.

He sat on his bed and tried to roll another cigarette, imitating Enki's gestures as best as he could. He completely messed up his first attempt, but he was quite pleased with the second one. He put it on his lips and went to light it, then paused. A brilliant idea crossed his mind.

He stood up, pocketed his lighter and his key and walked out of the room. He went back to the staircase and started climbing until he ended up on the roof.

Up there the cold was biting. Gushes of air ruffled his hair and crept under his hoodie; he made a mental note to 'obtain' a coat tomorrow. There were still pools of rainwater from last night's downpour, but he managed to find a relatively dry spot. He sat down cross-legged, wincing a bit at the sudden jolts of pain that traveled through his body.

The clouds had dispersed. Light-pollution obscured most of the stars, but he could still make out a few of the brighter ones. He let his head fall back, feeling his fringes dance in the breeze, and watched the small twinkling spots. He lit his cigarette, took a drag and felt the same relaxing numbness spread through him. He puffed out smoke and watched the shapes it created before being swept away by the wind.

His situation might not be ideal, but he certainly was much better off than he had been 24 hours ago. The fact remained that he had no clue as to  _how_  or  _why_ any of this had happened, but he couldn't bring himself to bother right now.

Right now he just smoked, his eyes flicking between the few visible stars and the city of Domino that spread before his feet. He smoked slowly, savoring the burning sensation, and listened: beyond the distant beat of music, beyond the honks of cars and the bustle from the streets below, beyond the hiss of the wind and the light sizzling of his cigarette, he could hear it.

Silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Smoking is bad for your health. Never mind Bakura. D:
> 
> And a dedication! This chapter is dedicated to my best friend, Stamatis, who helped me come up with a few plot points by patiently listening to me rant for about an hour or so, and then just said, "How about cage-fighting?" And then epiphany struck me. And then this chapter was born.
> 
> And it was quite a big chapter, wasn't it? I considered splitting it in two chapters, to keep their size more or less consistent, but then (to quote Bakura) I thought 'What the hell' and just posted it. For future reference, tell me what you prefer: a consistent size throughout all chapters, or the bigger-the better?
> 
> And another disclaimer, regarding Bakura's fight in the ring: I know that a non-physically-fit 29-year-old would never be able to compete with a fit 19-year-old but... Bakura managed to nail a punch to the liver, and that's a nasty punch. It's almost impossible to stay standing after that. Plus, he has a writer that loves him. So that's that. XD
> 
> HUGE THANK YOU's to everyone who has commented so far! You guys make writing this fic an amazing experience! ^^
> 
> As always, feedback is much, MUCH appreciated! How about we spread a bit more Yu-Gi-Oh love?  
> Review? :D


	9. Stay

Yuugi woke up slowly, sluggishly, and with a vague impression of worry. His disorientation grew when he realized his room was dark. He searched for his phone blindly, wondering why the alarm hadn't gone off. Had he not gone to work that morning? Or was it just too early to start getting ready?

He found his phone and tapped the screen. The digital clock read  _18:37._

He stared at the white numbers uncomprehendingly. Then his brain kicked into gear and eradicated the last remnants of sleep. Of course. He had not gone to work that day; he had called in sick. Because Atem was back.

He fell back to his pillows with a heavy sigh and fixed his eyes to the ceiling.

Yes, Atem was back. Somebody else might have pinched themselves to make sure that this wasn't a dream but, in his case, Yuugi did not need to. The sinking feeling in his stomach was way too real. So was the scratchiness in his eyes and throat.

Atem was back. The rest of his friends had come over, they had talked and mused and fussed over some book... and then Yuugi had yelled at his yami. And he had cried. And after he was done with all the yelling and crying, he had taken a nap.

He groaned and pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets until stars popped in the darkness. He had acted like an idiot. An idiot who could not reign over his feelings. He had promised himself that he would not trouble Atem on his first day back, he had been determined not to say a thing... and then he'd went and spilled the beans anyway - and in the worst way possible.

He lowered his hands and looked outside the window. The lights of the city blinked back at him. It had been sometime around noon when Atem had insisted that his hikari took some rest. Yuugi had agreed to lie down for a bit, but he hadn't expected to actually fall asleep. And for six hours straight, no less.

With this thought, his eyes went wide and he threw the covers off of himself. He had left Atem alone for the whole afternoon! An ancient spirit, back from the dead, in a world that he more or less had no clue about - and Yuugi had left him alone.

Some host he was.

He stood up and made for the door of his bedroom but, the moment his fingertips touched the knob, he stopped. Shame flooded him. Opening that door meant facing Atem, and... He was not sure he could do it after all the things he'd said to him. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. Was there anything he could say to make this better? The things he'd shouted in his face had been hurtful and bitter... and true. Still, despite them being true, they shouldn't have been made known like this. Not through tears and screaming in a day that should be dedicated to celebration.

In all honesty, he hadn't expected to lose his calm like that. Just when he'd expected himself to be at his happiest and strongest, Yuugi had simply been lost. Confused by his own reactions, his own emotions. Atem had once taught him how to find and hold on to his inner strength, and then his reappearance had brought everything down in a mess of indistinguishable feelings.

As for Atem himself, he had withstood the attack of Yuugi's hard words with stoicism. He had let him lash out and then he had hugged him. He had held Yuugi until he'd calmed down and then insisted that he got some rest, because he needed it. He'd asked for nothing. He had stood strong and reliable as ever, like the eternal stones of the land that had given birth to him. A true king, through and through.

Yuugi's shame was so intense that his fingers slipped from the doorknob. He shut his eyes tightly.

He guessed he should apologize, but... How? No apology seemed enough. No words came to him. How could he even begin to explain the mess that his feelings were? How could he really admit to the hope and the disgusting jealousy that clashed in him since yesterday? Anzu had asked him for another chance just before Atem reappeared and Yuugi did not know whether he should be happy, or angry, or place blame, or...

He sighed. Was it supposed to be this hard...? All these years, he had spent so much time daydreaming about what it would be like if Atem was there: of the things he'd say to him, the places he'd show him, the experiences he'd share. He'd dedicated part of every major event of his life to him.

He remembered the day he graduated from high school. He'd given the graduation speech and he'd proudly wore the choker on which the Millennium Puzzle had rested for years. He had fiddled with it anxiously before stepping on the podium but, once the time to speak had arrived, he'd felt calm and certain in a way that had reminded him of his other self. After finishing the speech, he had gone backstage, leaned with his back against a wall and smiled in the darkness, whispering, "I did it, Atem. One more adventure is over."

After he'd first kissed Anzu, he'd reached out to this part in his soul that lay vacant and silent and had tried to convey his joy to the emptiness, hoping that somehow his feelings would be strong enough to reach Atem and let him know that he was fine. He had been so happy that he had actually felt he could surpass the obstacles of time, space and dimensions.

When Anzu left for America, he'd found himself once more with his back against the wall of a dark room. That time around, the void in his soul had doubled and he'd been too scared to probe the emptiness.

The day he got married he had looked into the mirror to straighten his bow tie, chuckled quietly and murmured, "I had to loose the choker for today, old friend."

And the day his grandfather had died, Yuugi had whispered, "Take care of him, other me."

As for the day Anzu had asked for a divorce... That had been the only time he hadn't wished for Atem to be there. He'd been so furious with the void in his soul - that ugly, double void - that he'd tried to board it up and forget about it. For the first time, he'd been angry, so angry-

No point in scratching that wound again. He should focus on apologizing, nothing else. It was stupid to dwell on this stuff now. Now Atem was there, and he had some serious making up to do.

He braced himself, turned the doorknob and finally walked out of his bedroom.

The whole apartment was plunged in darkness, much like his room had been. Which was weird. Atem had learned enough about the modern world while living through him, so he should have been able to turn on the lights.

An awful suspicion flashed through his mind, and suspicion brought panic. He almost ran to the living room. He crashed against furniture and stumbled on carpets, all the while trying to fight the sickening feeling in his stomach. Surely Atem hadn't left... He couldn't have. Or did Yuugi offend him so much that he decided to go? To abandon him, just when he'd found him again...? He couldn't have; couldn't, couldn't, couldn't-

Yuugi's heart returned to its rightful place when he noticed the dark mass that lay huddled on the couch. Atem was there, sleeping.

Still there. Just sleeping.

Yuugi's relief was so great that he visibly deflated. He stood before the couch, with his heart thrumming so hard against his ribs he thought he could hear its echo in the quiet apartment. He huffed and rubbed the back of his head. Confused or not, he did not like the thought of Atem leaving. He did not like it one bit.

He knelt down before the couch and squinted to make out his yami's face. His hikari's panic hadn't disturbed him; his face was calm and he was breathing serenely through parted lips. Even in the dark, and even when asleep, he managed to make the blond tufts around his forehead seem like a crown.

_He is still here,_  Yuugi repeated to himself with a relieved smile. He hesitated for a few more seconds before reaching out to touch his yami's shoulder and shake him lightly.

"Atem?"

The yami stirred and his eyes fluttered open. His hazy gaze swept the dark room once before settling on Yuugi.

"Aibou...?" he mumbled, voice somewhat rough.

"Hey," Yuugi smiled. "Sorry to wake you up."

"No, no, not at all..." Atem sat up and straightened his back. He looked around again. "It's so dark. What time is it?"

"Oh, it's not that late." Yuugi got to his feet and hurried to hit the switch. Light flooded the room, causing Atem to flinch a bit and rub his eyes. "Sorry," Yuugi chuckled.

"No, no, do not apologize. I did not mean to fall asleep, anyway."

"Oh... About that," Yuugi mumbled and looked at his toes. "Sorry for leaving you alone for so long. You must have been bored out of your-"

"Aibou," Atem cut across him in soft, reassuring tones. Yuugi lifted his eyes and met Atem's crimson ones. "I was fine. Don't worry."

Right. Not worry. Easier said than done.

Yuugi sighed and plopped down next to him; the leather cushions creaked. He was determined to apologize but his throat felt all closed up. He guessed it would be easier in he didn't look directly in Atem's brilliant red eyes, so he clasped his hands and stared at them. He cleared his throat.

"Look, Atem, I... I wanted to apologize... for my behavior... before."

"Aibou-"

"No," Yuugi cut across him before he could reassure him, before he could tell him that it was okay. "It's not okay. I was horrible to you, and I... I'm sorry."

The word came out of him sounding like a plea. It floated in the air for a while, making Yuugi feel desperately weak and stupid. He clasped and unclasped his hands with the nervousness of a defendant waiting for the verdict. It did not come at once; there was silence in Atem's part, and then a small sigh.

"Aibou... What you said before was true, wasn't it? About Anzu... And all that happened between you. Right?"

He was aware that Atem was looking at him intently, but he kept his gaze downcast. "Yes... It was, but-"

"Then you should not apologize for telling the truth."

This time Yuugi did lift his eyes to give Atem a despondent look. "I shouldn't have yelled like that. I shouldn't have said it as if... as if I was blaming you, or-"

"Yuugi," Atem murmured, and the way he said his name made something in his chest clench slightly, "...you are glad that I'm here, aren't you?" A hint of anxiousness crumpled the lines of the yami's otherwise calm face.

"Yes!" Yuugi cried and sat up straighter. "Yes, I am! I can't even describe how happy I am - and, before, when I woke up and I saw that the apartment was dark, I thought you were gone and I was scared out of my wits, I couldn't-"

"Then it's okay." Atem smiled and placed a light palm on Yuugi's knee - which, instead of calming him, made him tense up even more. "If you're happy, then that's all I need."

"But I-"

"You were under stress. It is understandable. A lot has happened. But if you want me here... We will work the rest of it out."

His voice was wonderfully reassuring and his smile was soft and full of affection, but something sad lingered in his eyes. Something guarded and unsure, as if he expected Yuugi to crack again and admit that no, he did not want him there - that no, he was not happy nor content and he'd rather go on with his life without ancient pharaohs claiming part of it. It did not suit him, this fear. Seeing it ripple under his powerful exterior was like hearing flat notes in a familiar tune. It simply felt  _wrong_.

Yuugi took Atem's hand off his knee and held it with both his own.

"Atem, you being here is the most wonderful thing that has happened to me in years," he said fervently, squeezing his hand to emphasize his words. "I know I did not look like it, and I essentially ruined your first day back, but..." He sighed deeply. "I'm so glad you are here. Believe me."

Atem nodded. His hand twitched in Yuugi's grasp, not in an effort to release itself, but to settle more comfortably between Yuugi's palms. Or, at least, that was what it seemed to Yuugi. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he'd held on Atem's hand for way too long. Instead of distant and spiteful, now he was being clingy and whiny, and he was not sure whether this qualified as an improvement. He blushed in embarrassment and released Atem's hand a little too hastily.

He cleared his throat and straightened his back. He did not really feel like he had made up. So far, their evening still sucked and he suspected it would keep sucking unless he did something to change the gloomy mood. Everything in the apartment seemed heavy and stuffy. Perhaps they should get out; go for a walk, get some fresh air.

"Are you hungry?"

Atem frowned in confusion at the sudden change of subject, but he replied quickly. "Yes, quite a bit."

"Okay, here's an idea: how about we go for a walk and grab something nice to eat?"

"Sounds great."

"Good," Yuugi said brightly and shot to his feet. "Then I'll go get ready. And I'll bring you a coat!"

He jogged to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. The moment the lock clicked, his bright expression was replaced by one of relief. He placed a hand on either side of the marble sink, let his head drop, and sighed.

It had gone better than what he'd expected. Of course it had. Atem had been great, as always.

He allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps everything would indeed get to be alright. Perhaps he would get to have Atem in his life for a while. Or forever.

The moment this small word -  _forever_  - crossed his mind, his chest was crushed under the weight of such warmth and happiness that he felt he couldn't breathe. The idea of Atem staying forever... it was almost too much to bear.

He took a deep breath in. He let it out.

He really shouldn't get his hopes up like this. At least, not until they knew more about the reason the spirits were back. They knew next to nothing about the Millennium Spellbook and its possible involvement in Atem's return. No. He should remain calm and patient because, if he got his hopes all up and then Atem left again, it would hurt too much - even more than Anzu-

No, no, _don't go there_. He wouldn't think about Anzu now. For a few hours, he had to keep her out of his mind. Now was the time to make up to his friend, and he wouldn't be able to do that if he kept thinking about her.

However, if Atem stayed forever, Anzu would eventually find out and then-

_No, no, no, no._   _Stop it,_  he commanded himself.

He ran a hand over his face. He really needed some fresh air.

He lifted his head to look in the mirror. Puffy eyes and wild hair greeted him. A few tufts remained tangled in his hairband, messed up by sleep, and  _gosh_ , he looked tired.

He untangled the hairband and grabbed a brush. Halfway through tying his hair back up in a ponytail, he changed his mind. He brushed his hair with his fingers, ruffled them a bit, and... stared. His tufts, loyal to their natural disposition, had settled in the way they preferred: sticking out in all directions. If only the blond ones were still there, he would look just like his old self. Except... more tired and stuff. But still. It was comforting to know that his self was still in there somewhere. It made him feel as if things could go back to being alright.

Perhaps he shouldn't have changed his hair. Or perhaps he should change it back, work be damned.

...Well, if he was being completely honest with himself, his work had not been the only reason. After everything, after Anzu and her words, he had craved for a change; looking in the mirror had been too hard. However, this had been something he didn't feel like admitting to the others. 'Work' had seemed an acceptable enough excuse, so he'd went for it.

Anyway. Looking a bit like his old self did not sound so bad right now, so he put both the brush and the hairband down, glanced in the mirror one last time and walked out of the bathroom. He went to his bedroom, grabbed two coats and an extra pair of shoes and returned to the living room.

He'd lie if he said he didn't enjoy the way Atem's face lit up when he saw him. Yuugi chuckled and twirled a strand of hair on his finger. "Does this look better?"

"A lot better, aibou," Atem smiled. He did not say it, but Yuugi read the rest of his sentence in his eyes:  _you look like yourself again_. To this, Yuugi would answer that no, not yet, but he was getting there.

"Let's get going, then. I'm starving."

They put on coats, scarves and shoes and left the apartment. The moment they walked out of the building, the sharp cold of December bit them. The clouds of the previous day were gone, leaving the sky clear and the cold all the more intense for it.

"Damn it, I did not think about gloves," Yuugi groaned. "Wait here, Atem, I'll run and bring you a pair-"

"No, it's alright, aibou."

"Are you sure?"

Atem stretched out his hand in front of him. He clenched and unclenched his fist, splaying his fingers. "It's good to be able to feel the cold," he said with a small grin.

"Oh... I'm glad you see it this way," Yuugi said, stuffing his own hands in the pockets of his coat. His breaths came out in small, wispy clouds and the cold stung at his nose, but Atem seemed really pleased with it. He was breathing in and out, looking at the puffs his breath created with childlike amusement. Yuugi couldn't help but smile, too.

"Come on, let's go." He nudged Atem with his elbow and started walking down the street.

"Where are we going?"

"There's this place, not far from here. it's not fancy, but they make the best ramen in town."

Cars rushed past them and there were honks in the distance. Domino's familiar neon signs glowed in the night, hiding all but a couple of stars. The few people that walked along the sidewalk went by in a hurry, eager to leave the cold streets. Atem was watching everything with a faint smile fixed on his face. It seemed unreal but there he was, an ancient king walking the streets of a modern city, his breath leaving white traces in the night. Yuugi wondered whether he would ever get used to it. He guessed he wouldn't.

Every now and then Atem glanced at him, at which point Yuugi realized that he was staring and looked away hastily. But no matter how many times he averted his gaze, his eyes found Atem's profile again, drinking in the sight with lingering disbelief.

"Oh, I remember this place!" Atem exclaimed, pointing at a small store at the other side of the road.

Yuugi squinted to make out the sign and then laughed. "Yup. This is where I had my Nintendo fixed."

"Twice," Atem pointed out.

"Hey, it's not my fault I dropped it down the stairs! Grandpa scared me!"

"You could have paused the game and climb down those steps more carefully."

"That's not it. Grandpa scared me," Yuugi insisted with a pout. "Besides, it was the new Zelda game! I couldn't just-"

"Stop playing? Yeah, I remember."

Yuugi tackled Atem with his shoulder. "Oh, come on, don't judge me! You liked that game as much as I did!"

"All I'm saying is that if you did not keep playing while walking down the stairs or, say, taking a shower, you wouldn't have to fix your Nintendo... Twice." Τhey both laughed: Yuugi more openly and heartily, Atem with deep chuckles issuing from the back of his throat.

This was good. It was familiar and comfortable and Yuugi was... happy. It was the sound of his own laughter that helped him realize that. He hadn't laughed like this in while. It was as if the muscles of his face woke up all of a sudden and then proceeded to wake up the rest of his body.

In the ten minutes that it took them to reach the restaurant Yuugi had in mind, Atem kept pointing excitedly at every familiar place they came across. When the red sign that read  _Akai Doa_ came into view, Yuugi grabbed Atem's sleeve and led him across the road. The stood outside a truly petite restaurant and peered inside through the glass front. Most of the customers were in the line before the counter, opting for takeout instead of sitting in one of the few tables that were crammed in the small interior. Behind the counter, the kitchen was alive with movement, steam and erupting tongues of flame.

Yuugi hesitated. This was one of his favorite restaurants and the food was exceedingly good, but suddenly he worried whether this was too small for a pharaoh, too dark, too crowded...

"I know it doesn't look like much..." he murmured apologetically, but Atem shook his head.

"It's great. Very... Domino. Just what I'd like for my first day back." He didn't know if Atem really meant it or if he was being nice for his sake but, either way, Yuugi was glad.

When they pushed the door open, heat and a thousand smells hit their faces. They inhaled deeply; the hot, delicious air soothed their frozen noses and made their mouths water. They walked to a bench that stood by the glass front, where they would have a wide, unobstructed view of the street and the sidewalk outside. They took off their coats and sat on tall stools across from each other.

It was a self-service restaurant, so Yuugi left to go and stand in the line before the counter. He returned a good fifteen minutes later, carrying two paper bowls of steaming  _Akai Doa special._ He placed one bowl in front of Atem, kept the other for him and climbed on his stool.

"It smells good," Atem said with a smile.

"I know," Yuugi said dreamily, breathing in the scent of his own bowl. "Do you remember how to use the chopsticks?"

"I think so."

For a few minutes there was silence between them as they dug in their food. Yuugi kept a close eye on Atem's reactions, still a bit anxious about whether he'd like the meal. When Atem hummed in contentment, Yuugi smiled.

"Is it good?"

"It's delicious!"

Yuugi grinned widely and attacked his own bowl.

The world around them was in constant motion as cars drove by, lights blinked and people walked in and out of the shop. Even though he didn't stop eating, Atem's eyes seemed intent on capturing every movement and every little detail. He looked around with the fascination of a child, occasionally glancing back at his food or at Yuugi - something which made his hikari wonder whether Atem also felt the need to constantly make sure that all of this was real. Maybe. Probably.

It was weird seeing him in such a mundane environment. In Yuugi's mind, Atem was always surrounded by gold and sun. He'd been unreachable and bright, a mythical creature, older than the oldest of legends and just as elusive. Yet there he was, this son of the Sun God, sitting in the shadows of a small shop with colored lights reflecting off his crimson irises, holding a steaming paper bowl. And smiling. At Yuugi.

Who was staring again.

He lowered his head hastily and looked at his food. "You'd better eat it while it's warm," he said, just to say something.

" _I_  am eating.  _You_  are not," Atem said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yeah..." Yuugi chuckled awkwardly. "I guess I'm still in a bit of a shock."

"Over my return?"

"Yes! I mean..." He laughed a bit and shrugged. "It is still so... Unreal. I think I'll never get used to looking at you."

Atem let out one of his deep, velvety chuckles. "I know. I feel that way, too."

Yuugi stole an upwards glance. Something in the way Atem had said that made his heart swell with happiness and, simultaneously, ache a bit. He laughed it off.

"Oh, come on. It's not the same. You were the one that was... elsewhere. I've always been real."

"Not to me," Atem replied. "To me, seeing you feels just as unreal."

Yuugi thought that perhaps his ramen was too spicy because he could feel his cheeks heat up. He should probably let it cool down a bit.

"You really can't remember a thing from the afterlife?" he asked hastily, not quite able to put his finger on why he felt the urgent need to change the subject.

Atem shook his head. "I told you, I remember... a sort of peaceful feeling. The way you feel after seeing a nice dream, even if you can't remember what the dream was."

"Sounds good, though."

"Not as good as being here."

Yuugi felt Atem's gaze was too intense to hold it, so he looked at his bowl instead. He played around with a mushroom as he mumbled, "So... you really wanted to... return?"

Atem remained silent long enough for Yuugi to glance up and see the thoughtful frown that had taken over his face.

"I can't remember consciously wishing to return while I was in the afterlife. I can't remember anything. But I'm definitely happy now that I'm back. And... I admit I did wish I could stay... Back when I was in the Puzzle."

The floor under Yuugi might as well have disappeared. Something inside him dropped a few inches, and then kept dropping, and dropping... His hands went numb and one of his chopsticks slipped from his fingers and clattered on the bench. He blinked and replayed the last sentence in his head.

_I did wish I could stay..._

"What?" was all he managed to breathe.

He stared at Atem, waiting for a confirmation of what he'd thought he had heard. The yami stared back, his face serious and set. Instead of repeating what he'd said, he just nodded once, slowly.

"B-But..." Yuugi stammered, his mind reeling years back, trying frantically to pick up clues from his memories. "I don't understand. You wanted to find your name so badly. You tried so hard to regain your memories. We all tried so hard to send you back to the afterlife!"

The yami shuffled in his seat. He had stopped eating, too.

"I know," he said in a low voice, barely audible over the bustle of the little restaurant. "I wanted to know who I am. But I could also see that... I did not belong here. It was not my time. It was not my life. It was yours. I could not keep living as a parasite within you."

"You were never a-"

"I was," Atem said firmly. "I enjoyed living with you, I really did. And I... I wanted it to last. I wanted to stay and live. But during Battle City I came to understand that I couldn't. I would never find peace this way."

Yuugi stared, aghast. "You never said anything!" he said, voice taking a bit of a high-pitched edge. "I wouldn't mind sharing! I wouldn't mind keeping the Puzzle and-"

"I know you wouldn't. But I could never accept that. It would be selfish on my part. You had to have your life. You had to have your own story." A sad smile stretched Atem's lips, in perfect harmony with the sadness in his eyes.

"My own story," Yuugi echoed; Anzu's voice ringed in his head, followed by the slam of a door.  _You are nothing like him_.

He shut his eyes firmly. Not now. Now was not the time to think about this.

Because what Atem was saying was... inconceivable.

_I did wish I could stay..._

Stay. He had wanted to stay. He had tried to regain his memories not because he wanted to leave, but because he had to.

He realized Atem was talking again just in time to catch him saying: "...you've built your own life, and I'm so proud of you. You could never have done that with me here."

Yuugi shook his head. He did not look at his yami. He did not think he could. All he could do was keep thinking that this could have all been different, all of it, all-

"You should have said something. We could have discussed this," he said through gritted teeth.

"It wouldn't be fair-"

Yuugi slammed his palm on the table. "Who cares about fair? You would have been here!" he almost shouted. His hand trembled against the wooden bench.

Atem's sharp eyebrows knitted together. "Listen to me, aibou. It wouldn't have been fair to  _you_ -"

"Well, it wasn't fair to you, either! You didn't get to live once!"

"I did get to-"

"Oh, yeah? How old were you when you sacrificed yourself to save the rest of the world?" Yuugi asked, even though he knew the answer.

Atem swallowed. "Sixteen," he grumbled. "But, aibou, that's not the point."

"But it is!" Yuugi said desperately. "I would have gladly shared! You deserved to live, you-"

He stopped. The vision of a life where Atem had never left overwhelmed him and he couldn't go on. How different would his life have been? He wouldn't have known loneliness. He would never have had to whisper to the darkness, with his back against a wall and his thoughts away from this world. He would have never needed to learn how to cope with an empty spot in his soul. He would probably had never married Anzu, either, because she would have surely chosen Atem. How would that feel like...? Giving over his body to let him go on dates with her, to let him kiss her...?

Pain pierced his heart like an arrow. No, it wouldn't have been easy. But did it matter? He didn't get to keep Anzu either way, but he would have gotten to keep his best friend.

He was startled out of his thoughts when something touched his leg. It took him a while to realize that Atem was nudging him gently with his foot. He lifted his eyes and met crimson concerned ones.

"I've made you angry, aibou."

Yuugi blinked and deflated with a heavy sigh.

"I'm not angry. Exasperated, perhaps. I... I helped you regain your memories because I believed that it was the one thing that would make you happy."

The light pressure from Atem's foot against his leg was lifted, and Yuugi felt all the more empty and cold for it.

"It did make me happy. I  _had_  to know who I was, aibou. And I think... None of us would have been happy, had I stayed."

Yuugi let out a sharp, bitter laugh that made Atem frown. He leaned forward a bit and Yuugi momentarily believed that he would grab his hand, but he didn't; he merely kept talking in a soft voice. "It's different now, though. I have my own body. And this time I know who I am. I am me, you are you, and... It's different."

Yuugi looked at him unhappily. His food was growing cold before him, forgotten.

The little word that had scared him when he was leaning over the sink in his bathroom came back to him with renewed fervor. _Forever_. The chance of Atem staying,  _forever_. His chest was crushed again under the immense weight of too many feelings, but he managed to make out a dominating one: hope. He pressed his lips together and felt his expression hardening in determination.

"You are right. It  _is_  different. And you know why? Because this time we should make sure you stay."

Atem stared in troubled silence for a few seconds. The door of the shop opened and closed, sending in a chilly wave of air that got quickly stifled by the fragrant heat. A car drove by and its lights hit Atem's face, hardening the bewildered lines and then letting the shadows muffle them again.

"What do you mean? How...?"

Yuugi sat up straighter and squeezed his fists. "I mean that if you really want to stay, this time I will do whatever I can to make sure you do. I can't lose you a second time. Not after-" A thickness settled in his throat and he felt a little embarrassed for it, so he stopped talking.  _Not after Grandpa. Not after Anzu._  He didn't say it out loud, but he knew Atem understood.

He swallowed the thickness and went on. "I look at you and I fear that, every time I blink, you'll disappear just the way you appeared. If you  _want_  to go, then that's okay, I guess, but... If you want to stay, I'll do everything in my power to make that happen. I will. But you'll have to tell me this time. Don't hide it. Don't think about fair. Just say it."

Atem's eyes were fixed on him, oddly sparkling. His face was frozen in an expression of... incredulity? Hope?

...Pain?

Yuugi did not wait for Atem to do it; he reached out and grabbed his yami's hand. It was cold, so he squeezed it. Colors shimmered in Atem's eyes; water and light, like a rainy night in Domino.

The yami opened his mouth. Froze. Closed his mouth and swallowed. When he spoke his voice was thick and gruff in a way that Yuugi did not remember ever hearing it. "We don't know why I'm back this time, aibou."

Yuugi shook his head. "I don't care."

"But... There's probably a reason. A mission. And if there is, when that mission is over, most likely I will-"

Yuugi did not want to hear it, so he squeezed Atem's hand hard enough to make him stop.

"Then we ignore the mission."

"...We can't, aibou." Now there was definitely pain etched on Atem's face.

"Yes, we can. Fuck the mission. Yeah, I said it," he added when Atem's face twitched at the vulgar display of language. "I'm not a kid anymore. I don't have to save the world. It's not  _my_  responsibility. I can finally decide what do to and what not to do, and-"

"We both know you are not that selfish. You are a lot more selfless than I am, actually. And we both know that, if the stakes are high, you won't be able to just sit by and let the world burn." The shimmering was gone from the yami's eyes but the pain was still there, mixed with adoration, pride and gratitude.

Yes, Yuugi knew that Atem was right. And, in that moment, he hated himself for not being able to say  _f_ _uck the mission_  and actually mean it.

"Still, we don't know if there even  _is_  a mission," he said with the hopelessness of someone grasping at straws.

Slowly, Atem freed his hand and withdrew it. "What are the chances?"

"We can't know for sure."

"For starters, there is the Spellbook."

"That could be a coincidence," Yuugi said stubbornly.

Atem arched an eyebrow. "Do you really believe that?"

"I believe that, no matter what, we'll find a way to make you stay. If you really want to." He uttered the last sentence with more aggressiveness than he probably had to, making it clear that he demanded an answer.

Atem recoiled. "How can I...?"

"Just say it," Yuugi said, some part of him pleading. "Say it, and I'll do it."

"There are things bigger than me, aibou. Bigger than us both. And if I have to-"

"No  _'have to'_ ," Yuugi moaned. He let his head fall in his hands. "For once, no  _'have to'_." He sounded like a child, he knew, but frustration and fear were building up in him, threatening to stifle the hope, and he needed something to grab on. A goal. A definite one.

Why wouldn't Atem just say it? A few words, and Yuugi would have his goal.

But he already knew the answer to that question. Atem was trying not to be selfish. He was raised like a king. He had learned to put the greater good above his own wishes. He probably wanted to stay, but he would never admit to it out loud; not until he made sure that him voicing his desire would not condemn anyone else. Just like the last time.

Yuugi dropped his hands and looked up. Atem's face was just the sight he expected: pain mingled with hope. A clash between desire and duty.

"We'll find a way,  _mou hitori no boku_ ," Yuugi said with conviction. "We will. But this time I need you to be honest. You don't have to hide things from me. And I promise... We will find a way."

He could see how hard Atem fought to keep himself from looking too hopeful and the ache in his heart intensified. His yami deserved this second chance; he deserved a life.

Atem fiddled with the edge of his paper bowl, and it was weird seeing him, the king of kings, fidget like that. When he spoke, his voice was a murmur. "Then, aibou... I have to ask for something, too."

Yuugi frowned, taken aback. "Of course."

Atem stopped fidgeting and looked up, his gaze sharp and determined. "I want you to be honest, too. About everything. Don't hide things from me, like earlier. I don't want you holding things in until you can no longer take it just because I'm here. I  _need_  to know whether my presence is good for you... or bad."

Yuugi swallowed. He knew what he was asking was only fair. Honesty went both ways; or, at least, so it should.

"Okay," he said in a small voice. "Alright. Deal."

Atem nodded once. His shoulders relaxed along with his expression. He lowered his head a bit; a few golden tufts caught the movement and fell in front of his eyes. "I am happy to be here," he said quietly, as if afraid of being overheard.

He still hadn't stated whether he wanted to stay, but it was a start. A good first step. "Good," Yuugi said. "Me too."

One side of Atem's lips curled upwards and it was as if a sun ray broke through the clouds.

It was a good first step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm back, and the bois are back - now with extra fluff!  
> I know it was not much, especially after the long wait, but... Consider it a good first step. Or simply a first step. Or something to get the ball rolling again.
> 
> Also, Brightbriar, did you notice? MOAR MIRRORS  
> (cause I realized I really like the endless opportunities for introspection that they offer) XD  
> (there'll be more mirror scenes in the future, that's for sure)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and supporting this story - and encouraging its writer with your comments and kudos. It means a lot! *hugs you all*  
> There's been a barrage of kudos lately, left by guests (or by a single, overly enthusiastic guest), so I want to thank you for this, too. Those kudos really kept me motivated to get A LOT of writing done in the past days. :D
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, or simply want to talk about it, let me know by hitting that beautiful review button!
> 
> Until next time, take care everybody ^^


	10. Card games and bar counters

Atem did not expect to have such a good time.

After everything that had been said that day he did not think he would get to relax, let alone have fun. And yet, the walk back to Yuugi's apartment proved to be a lot more enjoyable than the walk from it had been. He and Yuugi strolled leisurely across the city, taking their time despite the cold, talking and laughing.

Yuugi was determined to fill Atem in on everything he had missed during his 'absence'. He talked excitedly about everything and everyone - except Anzu, Atem noted, but did not comment on it. Yuugi's narration was so lively and interesting he couldn't stop staring at him and listen. Slowly, those last eleven years took shape in Atem's mind; blanks were filled in, questions were answered. He heard about Yuugi's time in college and his travels. He swelled with pride as he listened about the games he designed, their world-wide acclaim, and his well-deserved fame as King of Games. He learned about Malik's first days after he decided to come back to Domino and start a new life; how they helped him land his first job, and what a disaster it had been when Jounouchi tried to teach him how to cook. He even heard everything about Honda and Shizuka's wedding, down to the dress she wore.

But the biggest surprise were the news about Jounouchi. When Atem met him in the morning, it had been obvious that he was happy and content with his life, but Atem could have never guessed the extent of his success.

Jounouchi was the one who took the most risks right after graduating. He had decided to follow his dream and make a living as a professional duelist. He practiced and travelled, fought duelists from all over the world and slowly, step by step, tournament by tournament, he actually managed to climb to the top of the world's ranks. There had been many hard days and he lost his smile more than once, but he never let anything hold him down. He persevered with fiery determination, drawing power from everything he'd learned and everything he'd lived, until he achieved his goal. He managed to become the Duel Monsters World Champion - a title he'd been holding for the last three years.

As astonishing as this had been, what Atem heard next made his jaw drop. Jounouchi's world champion status was something that not even Seto Kaiba could ignore. However begrudgingly, the millionaire was forced to admit that Jounouchi was good - according to Yuugi, Kaiba's actual words were  _'I've heard that Jounouchi has finally improved a bit, so I guess even old dogs learn new tricks every now and then'_. His cold facade might have tricked a lot at first, but he let his true opinion of Jounouchi show when he offered him a job. And of course, since matters where Kaiba was involved were hardly ever simple, it was not just any job.

Seto Kaiba had been planning to open a dueling school where he would train a select few in pro-level dueling. He wanted to create the next generation of champions - and who was better to teach his students than the World Champion himself? Jounouchi of course agreed, so now they were preoccupied with the final arrangements. The school would open in a few months, and both Kaiba and Jounouchi were busy with long meetings over syllabus, exam systems, books and the like.

Naturally, when Atem got over his initial shock, he had a hundred more questions than before. Yuugi was patient enough to recount the chronicles of Jounouchi and Kaiba's explosive collaboration. Apparently, tension was the one thing their relationship did not miss: Kaiba had not stopped making sarcastic remarks and Jounouchi now had the confidence to throw them right back at his face. This made their meetings more than a little eventful and their lives pretty loud, but they both seemed to be enjoying themselves. No matter what Jounouchi said about Kaiba, he could never hold back his smile whenever talking about it. As for Kaiba, offering him a post in his school was proof enough that he harbored more respect for Jounouchi than he let show.

Atem was so engrossed in the conversation he did not realize how time flew, or what streets they crossed and what turns they took. The city blocks rolled by unnoticed by him. What did catch his attention though, was the way Yuugi's breath left small clouds of fog as he talked, and the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled. The way the cold made his own throat scratchy when he laughed, or that his shoulders did not feel as stiff and tight as before. By the time they reached their destination, Atem's throat was sore from laughing and talking so much.

It was the view of Yuugi's house that brought him back to the present. When he looked up to the building that towered overhead, he realized that some part of him was furtively wary of returning to the apartment. In his mind, the place had a vast, cold and unfriendly feeling to it. The miserable hours he had spent there in the afternoon, confused and with nothing but his thoughts for company, flitted through his mind as they rode the elevator up to the top floor.

However, when Yuugi turned on the lights and they walked inside, everything seemed changed - and when Yuugi put on the kettle to make some tea, the place really felt like home. Perhaps it was Yuugi's smile that made all the difference. Perhaps it was Atem's own heart, which was lighter and less troubled after letting some of the weight that pressed down on it go. He did not know for sure but, whatever it was, he cherished it.

They both sat cross-legged on Yuugi's thick carpet, each one clutching at a steaming mug of tea to warm their numb fingers. Yuugi could not stop talking. He dragged Atem to a trip to the past, all the way back to Duelist Kingdom. He was talking and talking with his eyes gleaming in excitement, every so often exclaiming as he remembered another detail. Atem laughed at the vivacity of it all, feeling warmth that had nothing to do with Yuugi's well-heated apartment wrap him like a blanket. Listening about his friends current exploits had been fun, but this was different. There was something comforting in remembering events in which he'd took part, even played a major role. It fortified his sense of existing. It assured him that he belonged there; it made him feel that he  _fit_.

All in all, their night was quite calm and pleasant - at least until the moment they decided to play Duel Monsters.

It all started with a simple light-hearted banter over which one of them was the actual King of Games. Once they realized that they would reach no definite conclusion by talking about it, they agreed it would be best to leave the heart of the cards decide for them. Yuugi unearthed every Duel Monsters card he possessed and gave Atem a few minutes to assemble a deck, while he ran to the kitchen to make some more tea.

KaibaCorp had created a home version of a Duel Monsters Virtual Arena, but they both decided against holograms and over-the-top effects. They simply moved the coffee table aside and sat across from each other on the carpet, with a pot of fresh tea right next to their Graveyards.

And what started as a slow and calculated duel soon turned into a full-blown showdown.

Looking back, Atem could say with certainty that the turning point had been the moment when Yuugi smiled innocently and said, "What's wrong, other me? Having trouble without your God Cards?"

Atem smirked by reflex before responding. "I think I've proved that I don't need the God Cards to win. I practically invented that game."

"No, you didn't. Your father did. And I have eleven more years of experience than you do, so..." Yuugi shrugged smugly.

"Your arrogance will be your downfall, aibou. I activate Pot Of Greed: it allows me to-"

"No, you don't: Magic Jammer!"

Atem bristled. "Alright, then. I place this card face down and end my turn."

"Then I draw... And I can finally summon the Dark Magici-!"

"Not so fast, aibou!" Atem flipped his face-down card with one fluid motion. "Trap Hole!"

"Oh, you-!" Yuugi huffed and placed his Dark Magician in the Graveyard, giving the card a pained look. "Then I place two cards face down and end my turn."

Atem drew a card and grinned triumphantly. He took a deep breath and used his best voice to announce, "I play MONSTER REB-"

"That's banned."

Atem froze in the middle of his extravagant flourish. "What?"

"This card is banned. You can't use it."

"Since when?"

"Uuh... Since always."

Atem frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. "Well, it certainly wasn't banned when I was around."

"Anyway, we use Monster Reincarnation now."

"This is ridiculous! Why would one ban Monster Reborn?"

"Because it's OP."

" _OP_ _?!_ " Atem all but screeched. "This card has literally saved our souls on many occasions!"

"Yup," Yuugi nodded. "That's my point. It's OP."

Atem let out a dignified scoff. "Who decides what cards to ban, anyway? They are corrupting the rules of a game more than three-thousand years old-"

"Pegasus wrote the rules of the modern Duel Monsters, other me, not your ancestors. You didn't even have magic and trap cards."

"That's right. We had real magic instead."

"Say what you will; Monster Reborn is banned and that won't change."

Atem feigned a scowl. "When did  _you_  become so cocky, aibou?"

"I had a good teacher," Yuugi smirked.

Atem felt personally challenged to respond to Yuugi's attitude with an even cockier one. He narrowed his eyes and let his lips curve upwards. "Is that so? Learn from this, then: I bring Gandora, the Dragon Of Destruction! I pay half my Life Points and power him up by destroying all cards on the field, earning him 300 Attack Points for each. Which gives him 2700 Attack Points and leaves you open to a direct attack, and-"

Yuugi's brows scrunched up in an expression of pity. "Oh, other me... You are not gonna like this." Before sending it to the Graveyard, he flipped one of his face-down Monster Cards: Neko Mane King.

Atem's smirk died on his lips. "Oh no."

Yuugi nodded solemnly. "Oh yes. The destruction of my Neko Mane King forces your turn to end. Gandora disappears before he has the chance to attack." An amused laugh escaped him. "Sorry, other me. You cut your Life Points in half for nothing."

For a minute or so, Atem just stared. Then he gave Yuugi an approving nod. "Nice move. Your teacher must have been exceptionally good."

"Eh, he was okay."

Without thinking, Atem grabbed a pillow and flung it straight at Yuugi's face.

"Hey! My cards!" Yuugi whined. "Look, you scattered them!"

Atem gave a haughty shrug. "I guess I win, then."

"You'd wish!"

Yuugi retaliated by grabbing one of the couch's leather cushions and throwing it at Atem, effectively ruining the game. Duel Monsters cards flew all around as Atem was knocked to his back.

He pushed the cushion off of him and brushed his golden bangs away from his eyes. He tried to sound scolding, but could not keep the amusement out of his voice as he said, "Oh, real mature, aibou. Aren't you a little to old to be acting like this?"

"Aren't you a little too  _pharaoh_  to be acting like this?" Yuugi shot back with a wide smile.

Atem gave an indignant huff. He did not like losing, be it Duel Monsters or pillow fights. Across the carpet, Yuugi was singing, "I'm the King of Games, I'm the King of Games! I'm the King of Games, and Monster Reborn is banned, and-  _ow!_ "

Atem launched the cushion with such force that Yuugi toppled and knocked his mug over. The remainder of his tea spilled on the carpet.

"Whoops!" Yuugi exclaimed in between giggles.

"Oh Ra- I'm sorry, aibou," Atem breathed, struggling to talk after laughing so hard.

The tea did not stain a lot, but they both declared ceasefire and set to clean the carpet, still chuckling. It was close to midnight and Yuugi would have to go back to work in the morning, so they called it a day and decided to go to sleep.

Atem would stay at the guestroom: a nice and airy room with a beautiful view. Yuugi's bedroom was right next to it, so the whole thing had a cozy feeling to it. Atem supposed that this would be how he'd feel if he were an actual teenager at a sleepover in his best friend's house.

Yuugi kept babbling, albeit sleepily, as he helped him make the bed and carried warm blankets around.

"Other me, do you want to take a shower? There are clean towels in this set of drawers, and-"

"Yes. Thank you." He accepted a clean towel with a smile.

Things were okay. Not the same as he remembered, but okay. He was back. He was in Domino; he was with Yuugi. And there was a chance - a small, fleeting one, but wonderful in its probability - that he would get to stay. There would be plenty of time to work on whatever was not ideal. Tomorrow.

* * *

Tomorrow came, but it was not remotely as grand as Atem thought it'd be.

If asked what he expected his first week back to the world of the living to be, he would definitely not say  _boring; a_ nd yet a few days later he was forced to accept that this was exactly the characterization that fit his situation. He was experiencing his first days in his own, material body after thousands of years, he was with his friends and his partner, and instead of this being the most thrilling event of his life, he simply ended up bored out of his mind. Not that getting re-acquainted with living with an actual body did not have its challenges - because it did. But he'd expected his first days back to be a tad more exciting than that.

The heart of the problem resided in Yuugi not being able to take more days off work. His company was two weeks away from launching their new game, and they were all working overtime with no chance for a break. So, naturally, Yuugi spent many long hours away, and Atem spent many long hours alone in his hikari's apartment.

The second worst thing was that none of his friends could keep him company, either. Jounouchi was away for a few days because of a tournament, Honda had to deal with Miko and Shizuka both being sick with the flu, and Ryou... Well, he never got as close to Atem as the rest of the group. Sure, his yami was to blame for that, but Atem felt that this was some sort of gap that couldn't be bridged so easily. And, if he wanted to be frank, he was unnerved by him when he met him a few days ago, so Ryou Bakura was definitely not on the top of his list of people he'd like to spend more time with.

Anzu, however, was an entirely different matter. He actually wanted to meet her and talk to her. After all, she had been one of his best friends. Yuugi had told him next to nothing about how she was doing these days: he did not know whether she was back in America or in Domino, he did not know whether she had managed to make her dream of becoming a dancer come true... He knew nothing. And he did not try to ask Yuugi again: what few hours he spent with his hikari, he preferred to spend it with pleasant conversations and games, not awkward silences - or, even worse, arguments.

Still, he felt the need to talk to her. He even felt it was his responsibility to do so. No matter what Yuugi had said, the whole affair with Anzu  _could_  have been a misunderstanding. Now that Atem was back, he could attempt to set a few things right. But talking to her would mean talking to Yuugi first, and this did not feel the right time to do so. Perhaps he could do it later; after the initial shock of his return would wear off.

So it was that Atem found himself alone in Yuugi's apartment for hours on end, with nothing to do and no one to talk to. He tried reading to pass the time, but after a few hours he would grow sick of it too. He caught up with what had happened in the world during those last years and he even learned how to use the internet - to some extent, at least - but these past-times were less than fulfilling.

The best hours of his day were when Yuugi came back from work, and they talked and ate take-out while playing video games. Atem could see that his hikari was feeling guilty for leaving him alone for so many hours, but there was nothing that could be done. He understood that, and told Yuugi not to worry about it, trying to seem content for his hikari's sake.

However, after three days of confinement, Atem decided that sitting around in the apartment was not doing any good to anyone. He hadn't forgotten about Yami Bakura; he was adamant that they should at least try to locate him. Since no one else seemed inclined to do so, Atem decided to look for the Thief himself. He borrowed one of Yuugi's coats, got out of the apartment and simply roamed the streets of Domino. He had no plan nor any clues, but he guessed it was better than doing nothing.

After a few hours of fruitless wandering he was forced to accept the city was way too big to just stumble on the Thief like that. He returned to Yuugi's apartment disappointed, cold and a little annoyed, and went back into doing absolutely nothing for the rest of the day.

* * *

A dozen miles away, Ryou Bakura wished that his life would go back to being boring and uneventful.

 _Boring_  was not  _good_  by a long shot, but it would still be better than what his life had been the last few days. As the week drew to a close, Ryou had to admit that it qualified for a place in the Top 10 Worst Weeks Ever. There was not much that could compete with the return of his yami  _and_  having to work overtime to meet the demands of the holiday season. To top this all nicely, he had an important college exam coming up and he hadn't managed to study one bit.

So yeah, his week rightfully earned a spot on his sad Top 10. To celebrate it, he did something he hadn't done in four years: he lit a cigarette. At first it was just one, but by the end of the week he'd gone through a whole pack and was halfway through a second one. He guessed he should feel regret, especially after all the trouble he went into to quit, but he didn't. Oh well. There was only so much one could worry about simultaneously; the rest just took a back seat.

The silver lining was that on Saturday he would get to see Malik again. Ryou would be at the store, working until closing time, and then he would head to the  _Crow_ , the rock bar where Malik worked. Ryou was not one to go out much but, as the days rattled by, he caught himself really looking forward to it.

So it was that on Saturday he managed to get through his shift with less gritting of his teeth than he used to. He kept glancing at the clock in-between folding sweaters, t-shirts and pants, inwardly counting the hours down to give himself some courage.

_Six hours to go... Four and half more... Just three..._

His feet hurt and his head was throbbing, but the promise of a chair, a drink and his friend's company kept him going. He knew that he should probably go straight home and study for his upcoming exam. It would be the responsible thing to do, but it could not be helped. If he went back to his apartment after the week he'd just had, he'd go crazy; he was certain of it. Plus, there was no way he would concentrate enough to study.

He huffed and folded a frighteningly fuzzy sweater that had been laying discarded on the floor.  _One more hour of this, just_  one...

The store was full of customers to the point where moving around was a feat. Ryou was assigned the back of the shop again, so he had to crane his neck to inspect the crowd all the way to the wide entrance door. He'd been doing this every so often for the past days no matter where he was: at work, at the street, at the grocery store, or even in his own apartment.

He thought it weird that he had not caught another glimpse of his yami ever since the night of his return. No, scratch 'weird' - it was downright suspicious. Ryou did not  _want_  to see him again, not by a long shot, but he had to admit that he'd be a lot less anxious if he knew exactly where his yami was. At least make sure that he wasn't stalking him, or plotting something nasty.

An artificial bell sounded over the store's PA system.

"Attention, customers. Out store will be closing in five minutes. Please, bring your final selections to the registers. Thank you."

Ryou sighed. That meant that there was less than an hour to go. After the last customer left, there would be the usual half hour of tidying up and then he'd be free.

He wanted a cigarette so badly his fingers practically twitched. A cigarette and a drink.

The wide glass entrance doors finally closed. The music was turned off, leaving the store eerily quiet after the maddening buzz of the afternoon. Ryou glanced one more time out the glass door, just in case a certain someone happened to be standing outside, and set to tidying.

The place looked as if it had gone through a storm. All of the employees did their best to make it presentable again, but the allotted half hour was over before much progress could be made. Ryou didn't particularly care; the morning shift would take care of the rest. He threw a rumpled shirt onto a pile and ran to the staff room. He took off his work shirt as fast as he could and put on a dark blue one. For the first time that week, he looked in the mirror and tried to smooth out the rough edges of his image: he straightened his shirt, brushed his hair a bit. He even tied a scarf around his neck - although that served more as a protection against the cold and less as a fashion statement. He wrapped himself in his jacket and hurried outside.

The  _Crow_  was just a short trek from Ryou's workplace, so he walked instead of waiting for a bus. He crossed the narrow streets of downtown Domino with brisk steps, his scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose to ward off the freezing night air. Colors blinked ceaselessly in the night, spilling from myriads of signs. Now that all stores were closed for the day, there weren't many people walking the streets. Ryou took this as a good sign: it probably meant that the  _Crow_  wouldn't be too crowded, either.

He glanced at shop windows and signs as he walked, mostly watching at whatever was reflected in the glass than the products being displayed. Every now and then he turned sharply to look behind him, as if to catch a stalker by surprise. There was no stalker, of course, but that did not put him at ease.

When the  _Crow_  came into view, the first real smile in days found his way to his lips. He took in the familiar sight for a few seconds, before walking up to the entrance.

It stood out from its neighboring buildings not because of extravagant signs or a colorful front, but because it lacked precisely that. Compared to the bars and shops around it, it looked out of place. One might even characterize it humble, if it weren't for its sheer size. Before being turned into a rock bar, the  _Crow_  was an old industrial warehouse: a long, rectangular building at least as high as a two-story house. It stood withered and old, with no flashing letters to draw attention to it; there was only one simple, wooden sign above the door, creaking slightly as it swayed. Two vintage lanterns provided just enough illumination for one to make out a the name of the bar and a crow carved on the wood.

Ryou pushed the door open and walked in.

Warmth hit his face, along with the rich sound of electric guitars. He loosened his scarf and inhaled the smell of cigarette smoke, beer, and old wood. He hummed contentedly as his eyes swept the place.

Lanterns hung from the wooden beams that crossed the high ceiling, spilling their soft golden glow over benches, pool tables, stools and a few rickety sofas. Ryou had been right in his assumption that the place wouldn't be crowded at this hour. It was so spacious that it was hardly ever full, anyway, but Saturdays were always their busiest nights. As it were, he spotted several of the  _Crow's_  regulars - people he knew only by sight - drinking beer and talking loudly enough to antagonize the music.

Ryou's gaze found its way to the bar. Its long wooden counter was illuminated a tad more brightly than the rest of the place, thanks to a row of lights that hung low overhead. Just like every Saturday, two barmen stood behind the bar. The first one seemed like the proud embodiment of a metalhead/biker cliche: tall and burly, with long black hair in a ponytail, bushy beard and tattoos on every visible inch of his skin - except perhaps for his forehead.

The  _Crow's_  second barman was significantly more exotic-looking: long sandy hair messed with just the right amount of carelessness, caramel skin, gold earrings glinting in the half-light. He no longer lined his eyes with kohl, but he did not need to: his lavender irises stood out as they were. He was wearing a simple black shirt, just tight enough to hint at the well-toned body underneath, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A simple golden bracelet jingled as he mixed a cocktail.

Ryou smiled the moment he spotted his friend, but Malik was too busy to notice him: he was putting the finishing touches on a cocktail, arranging and rearranging spearmint leaves. Ryou made his way towards him, leaned against the counter and smirked. "Hey, good looking."

Malik looked up with sharp reply ready at his lips, but once he saw Ryou his whole face lit up.

"Hey, sugar puff!" he grinned. He nodded towards the two fancy cocktails in front of him. "Wait a sec, let me finish with these and I'll be right back!" He grabbed one in each hand and took them to the group that was huddled at the far end of the bar.

Ryou took off his jacket and took his usual seat: a tall stool right in front of Malik's station. The moment he sat down, his back and feet went numb in relief. He let out a tired groan, leaned with his elbows on the counter and basked in the satisfaction of actually sitting down instead of standing.

"Hard day?"

Malik was back and looking at him with a mixture of amusement and concern. Instead of a response, Ryou just sighed. He collapsed face-first on the counter and his forehead hit the slightly sticky surface.

"That bad, huh?" Malik giggled somewhere above his head.

Ryou lifted his head just enough to give his friend a bleary, one-eyed look. "That, and then some."

"Then I guess a drink is due. What will it be tonight, kind sir?"

Ryou let out a half-hearted chuckle and straightened his back. He glanced at the bottle of vodka that gleamed innocently behind Malik's shoulder, but changed his mind fairly quickly. He let his gaze drop to his hands. "Umm... A beer, I guess."

Malik filled a glass with swift movements and placed it before him. He wiped his hands and looked at Ryou, still beaming. "So... What's up? What happened while I was away?"

Ryou simply shrugged. "You know everything, more or less."

"Yeah, but hearing the live version is different. Come on!" He gave Ryou's shoulder a playful pinch. "Tell me. How have you been?"

Ryou sighed and stared at the glass between his hands. "Okay, then. The past few days have been some of the worst I've had the bad luck to experience. So, cheers to that."

"They've been giving you hell at work, huh?" Malik said with a sympathetic wince.

"Yeah. Holiday season is the best!" Ryou sneered with a double thumbs up and a fake smile that collapsed a second later. He shook his head in exasperation. "I swear, people go crazy this time of the year. I don't think I served one sane customer today."

"Ouch. That sucks."

"I know." Ryou wrapped his fingers around his cold glass and the moisture dampened his palms. "Anyway, how was your week? Are you done with the shooting for the movie?"

"Yeah, for now. They might need me again next month," Malik said lightly as he cleaned the beer taps with a wet cloth.

"So you'll be around for a while?"

"That's right. You happy, sugar?" Malik winked and gave him a cheeky smile.

"Thrilled," Ryou said with a roll of his eyes. Malik laughed and mock-slapped him with the wet cloth he was holding. "Seriously, though," Ryou added after he'd warded off his friend's attack, "I'm glad you'll be around. Things are bat-shit crazy these days. Having some company will be a relief."

"You mean 'having one sane person around, one who can actually keep their calm and not freak out over every little thing'? Yeah, I bet it will be a relief," Malik said with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Hey, I may be kinda freaked out, but you are... insanely chill."

" _Kinda_  freaked out?" Malik echoed in disbelief.

"Insanely chill," Ryou repeated with a nod, pointing at Malik.

The Egyptian chuckled. "Come on, drink your beer. It might help you relax a bit."

Ryou looked at the rapidly dissolving foam in his glass. He didn't really feel like it, but he brought the glass to his lips anyway.

"Yo, Ishtar." The other barman approached them with a basket full of glasses fresh out of the dishwasher. "Can you take care of these?"

"Sure."

"Thanks man. Hey Ryou," he greeted with a curt nod.

"Hey, Reiji," Ryou greeted back with a polite smile.

Malik placed the basket next to him, grabbed a clean cloth and started polishing a glass. He made sure they were alone before he leaned closer to Ryou. "So... No sight of Bakura yet?"

Ryou, who was drinking, swallowed so hard that he beer scraped his throat. " _Do not call him that!_  And no, I haven't seen him."

Malik kept his eyes on the glass he was wiping, thus missing Ryou's glower. "That's good."

"No, it's not."

Malik's eyebrows shot up. He gave Ryou an incredulous look. "Don't tell me you actually want to see him?"

"Of course I don't," Ryou snapped. "I don't want to lay eyes on him ever again. But the fact that he hasn't shown himself is... suspicious, to say the least."

"Well... You did tell him to stay away," Malik pointed out. He lifted a glass against the light to inspect it and moved to the next.

"When was he one to actually listen to whatever I said? No." Ryou shook his head fervently. "His absence is  _suspicious_. And it drives me nuts. I keep feeling he's around, watching me or something."

Malik looked at him sternly. "You do realize you are driving yourself crazy, right? You don't even need him to be close to affect you."

"He could be close, for all I know," Ryou said stubbornly.

"I don't think he is." Malik leaned against the counter and grabbed another glass. "If he was indeed watching you, I don't think he'd have managed to remain hidden this long. He's not as subtle as he wants to believe."

"He's pretty capable," Ryou admitted sourly.

"He's also a drama queen. He wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to show up."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Oh, come on, Ryou. I've worked with the man. And, let me tell you..." He pointed a perfectly-polished glass at him and fixed him with a serious look. "Plotting death and world dominance with someone tends to be pretty revealing about the way their mind works. For once, you should listen to the bottomless well of wisdom that is Malik Ishtar."

"And  _you_  should  _totally_  put the 'bottomless well' part in your personal ad," Ryou smirked.

Malik snorted in laughter, but sobered up so quickly it was disconcerting. "Seriously, Ryou. Stop driving yourself crazy over him. It's not good to let such feelings consume you. Take it from me."

Ryou pushed his bangs off his eyes and sighed deeply. "I know. But I can't just ignore the fact that he's back. I can't."

"Focus on something else. What about college?"

He scowled. "Is college supposed to make me feel better?"

"It could be an efficient distraction. Don't you have an important exam coming up?"

"I... do."

Ryou glowered at his now lukewarm beer. Thinking about college was almost as bad as thinking about his yami. Not quite the same, but almost.

He was a student of English language and literature, but in between work and his life's many ups and downs, he still hadn't managed to graduate. College was a painful topic because, to Ryou, it was proof of how much of a loser he was. He hadn't managed to get in college right after high school like everybody else had, because his grades had been low. Way too low. After their adventures were over and his yami was gone, it had been hard for Ryou to pick up the pieces of his life and put together something viable. He'd cracked. He'd tumbled low and, naturally, his grades had taken the plunge with him. So he watched everyone else go off to college and follow their dreams while he was stuck.

The worst of the blows had come after that. His father, thoroughly disgraced by his failure of a son, disowned him. He kicked him out of the house he'd been providing for him and stopped sending him money. He cut off all ties; the only thing he told him when Ryou tried to contact him, was to call him once he learned how be a functional member of society instead of being a parasite.

Ryou. A parasite. Wasn't that ironic.

So he'd found himself with no choice but to bust his ass to work to survive. While the others studied and created and evolved, he was wiping tables and serving tea and scrubbing floors. He realized soon enough that without a degree of some sort he'd never move past that. So, once he managed to somewhat stand on his own feet, he decided to pursue a career. Any career. Whatever would be easier, since he wouldn't be able to devote much time and energy to it.

When he was younger, he'd dreamed of becoming an archaeologist, just like his father. Ancient civilizations fascinated him. Especially ancient Egypt.

After his yami, he wanted nothing to do with it. He threw away all relevant books, all the gifts his father had sent him, the diorama his yami had made him create... Anything that reminded him of that place, that age, and  _him_. He didn't want to remember. He tried not to.

After his father abandoned him too, he didn't want to even consider following in his footsteps. It did not matter that Ryou had always had a knack for archaeology. It did not matter that he was  _good_  at it, nor that he had already had a vast knowledge on the subject for someone his age. No; archaeology was out of the question.

English seemed like a solid choice. He was already fluent, thanks to lessons he'd taken as a child and the trips he'd accompanied his father to. Ryou did not think it over twice; he couldn't really see any other options anyway.

So there he was, 29 years old, struggling for a degree. Being still in college at his age was pretty disgraceful, too, but he did not trouble himself with this detail. He had no family around to embarrass, so he didn't have to worry about 'disgracing anyone' anymore. It was something.

He felt his mouth twist in an unhappy smirk.  _Way to look at the bright side of things,_  he told himself.

He looked at his half-drunk beer and scrunched up his nose in mild disgust. He pushed the glass away from him. Beer wasn't really cutting it, but he didn't want to ask Malik for something stronger.

His fingers were itching. He wanted a smoke.

"Ryou? You okay?"

He looked up. His friend was eyeing him with concern.

"Never been better. Why?"

"You, like... totally zoned out. I've asked you twice about studying, but-"

"Oh. Sorry. I guess I didn't hear you over the music." He tried to smile. Malik did not smile back.

"Seriously, though. Are you alright?"

This time he managed a bitter smirk. "Is that a rhetorical question?" He sighed and moved restlessly in his seat. "Let's not talk about college, please. Or my yami."

"Okay. Although, with two of the more fun subjects out of the way, I don't know how we'll ever find something to talk about!" Malik snickered as he set the cloth down. Apparently he'd finished polishing the glasses during Ryou's glum reflection. He grabbed a couple and turned around to place them on their allotted shelves.

"What about your yami?" Ryou asked, loudly enough for Malik to hear him over the music. "Any sight of him?"

Malik turned his head to look at him over his shoulder. "Mariku? No. Which really leads me to believe he's not back."

"Do not let your guard down," Ryou warned sharply.

Malik placed the last glass on the shelf and turned around to face him. "I won't. I mean, who knows? Perhaps my yami has met your yami and the only reason we haven't seen them yet is that they're both holed up somewhere, plotting the end of the world." He shrugged theatrically, barely containing his laughter.

"Not funny," Ryou grumbled, thoroughly unamused.

Malik giggled and waved an airy hand. "Oh, relax, sugar."

A customer approached the counter and gave Malik his order, so he left Ryou on his own for a while and set to make a couple of cocktails. Ryou looked around as he waited, absently tapping his foot in the beat of the music. The  _Ace Of Spades_  blasted through the speakers and he started humming the lyrics, feeling the bass thrumming deep in his bones.

Once Malik was done with the drinks, he wiped his hands and returned to his spot across from Ryou. He glanced around to make sure nobody was close, then leaned towards him for good measure. "So. I talked to Ishizu today."

Ryou perked up. He glanced around once, too, and whispered, "Any news?"

Malik's wince was an answer in and of itself. "Yeah, but they're not good. Things don't look too hot at her front."

"No progress in getting the Book, then?"

"No. And it doesn't seem likely that she'll manage to."

Ryou frowned. "But you said she knows people that could help. That she has connections-"

"She's tried everything. So far, her connections have been of no use."

"How can that be?"

Malik's expression turned grim. "Dunno. But I don't like it one bit."

"Nobody did, ever since day one. I mean..." Ryou lowered his voice even more. "It's the Millennium Spellbook. I don't think any of us wanted to be dragged back into another Millennium-related mess-"

"That's not it." Malik sighed and brushed a tuft behind his ear, revealing a glinting earring. "At first, I'd allowed myself the benefit of doubt. I thought there might be a possibility that Ishizu was overreacting. But now..." He shook his head. "I gotta admit, this whole affair sounds fishy."

Ryou pondered on it for a moment, distractedly watching Malik's earring as it swayed. "But... Is it really  _that_  unheard of to deny Ishizu involvement in a project?"

"It is," Malik said firmly. "I've told you: they've never kept her in the dark before."

"But why keep her purposefully away from the Book? They don't know about her involvement with the Millennium Items, or the whole... tomb-keeping thing, do they?"

"Perhaps it's not about keeping Ishizu away in particular. Perhaps it's about keeping away any person they don't trust."

"...Who's  _they_ , though?" Ryou asked with a frown.

Malik shrugged. "Whoever's head of the project."

"Wait, isn't the Council of Antiquities-?"

"No, no. Representatives of the Council are present in all excavations, but that's that."

Ryou's brow scrunched up even more. "Then who's-?"

"That's what Ishizu's looking into now," Malik said, tapping a finger to the counter for emphasis. "She's trying to find out who's funding this - because someone is. Someone sends greats sums of money to pay for all those translators and restorers."

Ryou remained silent at that. The music and noise seemed to swell around them.

He did not like what Malik's words implied. He did not like to think that they probably had a new enemy to deal with. On the other hand, he couldn't ignore the possibility, either.

He scoffed at himself.  _Enemy_. This was a word that did not really have a place in his life now.  _Enemies_  were a thing of the past, when they were a bunch of teenagers with heroic delusions; back when they wanted to save the world with their cards, and gambled their souls for their friends' sake. There were no real enemies now. There were co-workers you might not like, or annoying bosses and demanding customers. Even thinking that word made him feel childish.

However, he couldn't just stick his head in the sand and pretend everything was fine. Because if a person was funding the translation of the Spellbook, he probably wasn't their friend - and they definitely weren't going to use its magic to achieve world peace or something equivalent. Which consequently made them an enemy, and made Ryou and his friends... What? What could Ryou, Malik and the others do against such a threat? They were just a bunch of normal nobodies: a store-employee, a barman, a game-designer... God, they sounded like a joke. Problems could no longer be solved with games and magic. They had meddled once because they had magic items in their hands, and yamis, and-

He fidgeted when the startling realization hit him.

They had yamis once more. They had come back. Via magic means, no doubt. They had no Items, but everything else was alarmingly familiar. Perhaps that was a sign that history was repeating itself. Perhaps  _'saving the world from its mortal enemies'_  was not as much a fairy-tale as Ryou had come to believe. And perhaps this bunch of nobodies would have to take matters to their hands once more. They'd just have to figure out how.

Malik's voice cut into his thoughts. "You know, I've been thinking... If this whole affair is, indeed, way above Ishizu's power..."

Ryou met his gaze steadily. He was under the impression that they were both thinking the same thing: if their enemy had money and power, then they would have to fight them back using the same weapons.

"Kaiba," Ryou said simply.

Malik nodded. Then he let out a breathy laugh. "Boy, he'll be thrilled."

"He'll probably kick us out the moment we mention a magic spellbook. Or... He'll have Mokuba escort us out, or something."

Malik smirked slyly. "Oh, I think he'll be more willing to help than you think."

"If you're talking about Jounouchi, I don't think-"

"No, silly. I'm talking about the Pharaoh."

"...What about the Pharaoh?"

Malik rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, come on, Ryou! What was the one thing Kaiba always wanted?"

Ryou kept staring uncomprehendingly. "Uuh... To sculpt the moon into a Blue Eyes White Dragon?"

"No; he wanted to beat the Pharaoh in a duel. Come on, he was literally obsessed with it!"

"Yeah... So?"

Malik sighed tiredly. "So, he was bummed when the Pharaoh left before he'd had the opportunity for a rematch. So, now that he's back..."

Ryou finally caught on. "You think he'll help us if the Pharaoh promises to duel him in return?" He lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. "It won't work."

"It will," Malik stated with confidence.

"How much do you wanna bet?"

"Oh, don't make me take your money, sugar puff."

Ryou chuckled. "Fine. But we'll have to tell the others first."

"I know. But I think it's best to wait. At least, until Ishizu has some solid information."

Ryou nodded in agreement.

Malik had to leave again to prepare another order, so Ryou took this chance to recover. His brain was burning from fatigue and all the new information. He stretched and groaned when he felt his spine pop.

He felt around his jacket for his pack of cigarettes, then hesitated. He hadn't told Malik that he'd took up smoking again. He stole a glance at the Egyptian; he was preparing some drinks while making small talk with a customer. Ryou's fingers slipped away from his jacket pocket. He could wait until the walk home to light one.  _Yes, but that's not gonna happen any time soon_ , a voice in his mind whispered.

He almost groaned audibly. He hated that little knowing voice. He also hated deliberately hiding things from Malik.

He took out the pack, picked a cigarette and caught it with his lips. He caught Malik's eye; saw him freeze for a moment. Malik gave him a frown that conveyed both question and surprise, then turned back to the drinks he'd been mixing.

Oh well. The hard part was over. Ryou lit the tip and inhaled, and felt his brain relax just a little. He sighed in satisfaction. This was what he'd been dreaming for the past eight hours.

Malik came back. Wiped his hands. Looked at Ryou in apparent displeasure.

"I didn't know  _this_  was a thing again," he said, nodding towards the cigarette.

"Come on. After the week I had, it was inevitable," Ryou replied quietly.

Malik grimaced and shook his head. "Okay. I won't scold you, cause I'm not your mother.  _But,_ " he added sharply, pointing a finger at him. His lavender irises pierced Ryou. "I disapprove."

Ryou chuckled. "Yeah, I know."

Malik grabbed a towel, tossed it over his shoulder with a flourish and flashed him a smile. "So. Will you stay 'till closing time? It's a slow night. I could use the company."

Ryou smiled and settled more comfortably on his stool. "Sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey looks like that HUGE first day is finally over! It was a long long day in this universe, but time marches on again! _*whispers 'now the fun stuff will start happening'*_
> 
> To those of you who asked me about Kaiba: we already learned a few things about him in this chapter, and yes, we will get to see him. Soon. I hope. D:
> 
> In this fic I'm strictly following the manga canon. No anime, no movies, not even Dark Side of Dimensions (yeah, I know that Takahashi wrote the plot to that one, so technically it's canon, but still).  
> Now here's the fun thing: I haven't watched GX. I don't know what's going on in GX. I didn't know there was a Dueling Academy in GX, and I definitely didn't know it was Kaiba's. Last year, when I started planning this fic, I was like "I really like the idea of Kaiba founding a school" and my boyfriend/beta reader was like, "Soooo just like GX?"  
> I WAS TOTALLY CLUELESS xD (great minds and stuff, eh? no? okay)  
> I guess the reason I'm saying this is so that people won't misinterpret this as my considering GX canon. That's not the case. This fic treats as canon only the events of the manga - the rest are just my additions.
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, let me know what you think! Your feedback really helps me grow and improve (and it makes me all happy and squealing and that's great too)  
> Until next time, take care everybody! :D


End file.
